“Do you know Rob very well?”
Hunched over the counter watching Rebecca put together a decorative basket, Andrea raised an eyebrow as she passed her a small pot of ivy. “As well as anyone, I suppose. Why?”
Rebecca hesitated, not wanting to place Andrea in an awkward position by asking her questions about Rob’s personal life. “It’s nothing, really,” she said as she tucked the pot among the others she’d already placed in the basket. “It’s just that while I was working there this past weekend, a man delivered an old, sick horse to his ranch. I told Rob how kind I thought he was for giving the horse a home and it seemed to anger him. In fact, he insisted he wasn’t kind, he was mean, and that meanness ran in his family.”
When Andrea didn’t immediately respond, Rebecca glanced up. Seeing the frown on her friend’s face, she waved away the question. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. It just struck me as such an odd thing for him to say.”
“Odd, maybe,” Andrea said, her tone grim, “but true. At least, the part about meanness running in his family. Rob’s the exception, though he tries very hard to make people believe otherwise. His father, on the other hand…”
Rebecca motioned for Andrea to pass her another plant. “What?” she asked, her curiosity aroused.
Andrea nudged a finger through the remaining pots, selected one and passed it to Rebecca. “Mean to the bone. Cruel, even, from what I’ve heard. He raised horses, both for the track and for private sell.” She shuddered. “I’ve heard stories of things that man did that would curdle your blood.”
Rebecca pushed aside the basket to give Andrea her full attention. “Tell me.”
“Now, this is all secondhand,” Andrea reminded her. “I don’t know for a fact that any of it’s true. Though from the number of incidents, I’d have to say there must be some truth in it. Where’s there’s smoke, there’s usually fire,” she said sagely.
“Go on,” Rebecca urged.
“Well, for instance, there was the time a local vet was called out to their place to tend an injured horse. When he returned to town, he was fit to be tied. According to him, one of the trainers was trying to load a horse into the starting gate for a practice run on the track, and the horse balked, refusing to go in. Rob’s father was watching from the rail, and shouting orders. He always carried a bull whip. Some said he even slept with it.
“Anyway, when the horse still refused to enter the gate, Rob’s father jumped the fence, jerked the trainer down from the horse and took the bull whip to the animal. The vet said he’d never seen such a bloody mess in his life. The vet did what he could, but, according to him, the horse was scarred for life and would never run again. After that he refused to treat any more of Mr. Cole’s livestock.
“There was another incident,” she went on, “where a horse died at their place. A high-powered stud, whose services were considered gold. Rob’s father was in debt up to his eyeballs at the time, and it was rumored that he killed the horse to collect the insurance money.”
“Did he?”
Andrea shrugged. “No one ever knew for sure. Supposedly the horse went crazy one night during a thunderstorm and kicked down his stall door. He cut his leg so badly on one of the iron rollers attached to the door that he bled to death before the accident was discovered.”
“That’s possible, isn’t it?” Rebecca asked. “I mean, a horse could die from such an injury?”
“Could,” Andrea agreed. “But this particular horse had no history of fearing storms or kicking his stall. Or, at least, that’s what the groom who cared for him was quoted as saying.”
“But wouldn’t the groom’s testimony be enough to warrant an investigation by the insurance company? Surely they wouldn’t pay a claim if there was a question of foul play?”
“Probably not. But the groom disappeared before he could be questioned. Rob’s father said the groom was afraid he’d be blamed for the horse’s death and ran away to Mexico.”
“And did he?” Rebecca asked, hearing the doubt in Andrea’s voice.
“Maybe. Who knows? But there were some who suspected that Rob’s father killed the groom, to keep him quiet.”
Rebecca placed a hand over her stomach, sickened by the thought. “Surely not.”
Andrea lifted a shoulder. “Like I said. I don’t know whether he did or didn’t. I’m just telling you what I heard.”
Sobered by the story, Rebecca pulled the basket back in front of her and absently tucked Spanish moss around the base of the plants to conceal the pots. “And Rob?” she asked uneasily. “How does he fit into all this?”
“As far as the death of the horse and the disappearance of the groom goes, he doesn’t. He was just a kid when all that happened.”
“And his father?” Rebecca asked. “What about him? Does he still raise horses?”
Andrea rose. “Maybe you should ask Rob about his father. I’ve said more than I should have, as it is.” She turned to leave, but stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “But I will tell you this. Rob’s father was guilty of a lot more than mistreating his livestock.”
Rebecca couldn’t get Andrea’s parting comment out of her mind. It haunted her throughout the day, making her wonder what her friend had meant in saying that Rob’s father was guilty of a lot more than just mistreating his livestock. Guilty of what?
She was still puzzling over the odd comment on the drive out to Rob’s ranch that afternoon, after closing her shop.
She didn’t stop at the house, as she normally did, but drove straight to the barn, wanting to check on the horse before beginning her work.
Gathering the sack of carrots she’d brought along, she hopped down from her van and strolled into the barn.
“Hey, girl,” she said softly as she approached the stall. “How are you doing today?”
The horse stretched its head over the stall door and nudged its nose at the sack she held.
Laughing, Rebecca opened it and pulled out a carrot. “Well, there’s definitely nothing wrong with your sense of smell.” She offered the horse the carrot, then leapt back with a shriek when the animal nearly took one of her fingers, as well.
“Did she bite you?”
She turned to find that Rob had entered the barn and was striding toward her, his hands fisted at his sides, a dark scowl on his face. The details of the stories Andrea had told her of his father’s cruelty leapt to her mind. “No,” she said quickly. “Her teeth just grazed my finger. It startled me more than it hurt.”
Reaching her, he caught her hand and opened it, spreading her fingers to examine them himself. He poked and prodded, then, having seen for himself that she wasn’t injured, he released her. “No harm done.”
Rebecca curled her fingers into her palm, her skin tingling from his touch. “No. None at all.” But what about him? What could have happened to put him in such a dark mood? Gathering her courage, she took a step toward him. “Is something wrong?”
He glanced her way. “No. Why?”
“You look…I don’t know. Angry.”
He took the sack from her. “Frustrated,” he said grimly. “Not angry.”
“About what?”
“Not what. Who.”
“All right, then, who?”
The creases on his forehead deepened as he drew out a carrot. “It’s Sebastian Wescott. He was supposed to have Eric’s computer ready for me today, but he never showed up at his office. Doesn’t answer his phone, either.”
“Do you think something has happened to him?” she asked, thinking of what had happened to Eric.
Rob shook his head. “Seb knows how to take care of himself. He also knows how to hide,” he added resentfully, then shook his head again. “He’s okay,” he told her, and forced a halfhearted smile for her benefit. “He’ll surface, when he’s ready.”
Not wanting to think about what kind of trouble Seb might be in, especially when Rob could do nothing to help his friend until the man decided to make his whereabouts known, Rob held up the carrot. “You feed a horse like this.” He demonstrated by laying the carrot on his open palm and offering it to the horse.
“Oh. I see.” Rebecca mimicked his actions, holding her hand out flat to the horse this time. She sputtered a laugh at the tickling sensation the animal’s velvetlike muzzle created on her skin.
“Tickles, doesn’t it?” Grinning, he leaned against the gate and reached to scratch the horse between its ears. “She’s looking better today.”
“Much,” Rebecca agreed, relieved to see that his mood had lightened. When he smiled, he seemed more approachable, less intimidating. Less threatening. She emptied the remaining carrots into the feed trough, then braced her arms on the gate beside his, while they both watched the horse make quick work of the treat.
He nodded toward the animal. “Her appetite’s improved, that’s for sure. And her eyes are much clearer. She should be ready to be put out in the pasture with the others in another day or two.”
As if listening in on the conversation, a horse in the pasture beside the barn whinnied. The mare lifted her head at the sound and whinnied in return.
Rebecca laughed. “She’ll like that. I’m sure she gets lonely in here.”
“You could always spend the night with her again and keep her company until she’s ready to be let out.”
She glanced his way, startled by his suggestion, then choked a laugh at the teasing she saw in his eyes. “I don’t think my back would survive another night on that hard stall floor.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders and drew her away from the gate.
“You could always set up a bed,” he suggested. “Although the mare might want to share it with you,” he warned. “I know I would.”
Rebecca jerked to a stop and looked up at him, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. But the sudden rush of color to his face told her that she hadn’t misunderstood. He’d said exactly what she’d thought he’d said.
He dropped his arm from around her. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That just slipped out.”
Rebecca couldn’t think of a thing to say in reply. Gulping, she tore her gaze from his and started walking again, wondering what on earth he could possibly have been thinking for a comment like that to slip out. Was it possible that he really wanted to share a bed with her? Oh, Lord, she thought, her heart pounding at the very thought.
Rob hung back as Rebecca walked on, kicking himself for making such a suggestive comment when he knew damn good and well she had some sort of hang-up about sex. Hadn’t he seen a perfect example of that the night he’d kissed her?
He ran to catch up with her. “Rebecca.” He caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. “I’m sorry. That was way out of line.”
“N-no. It’s all right. I just thought…” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know what I thought.”
Embarrassed? he asked himself, noting the flush beneath her hands. Or aroused? He decided to take a chance it was the latter. For Rebecca or himself, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t in the mood to examine his motives too closely. If he did, he feared he’d discover his motives in taking the gamble were purely selfish.
He pulled her hands from her cheeks and dipped his head to meet her gaze. “I said I was out of line. And that’s true. I was. But what I said was the truth. I would like to share a bed with you. I’m only sorry if I offended you or embarrassed you by saying so.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t.”
A smile curved his mouth at the lie. “Good.” He released her hands to drag his slowly up her arms. “There’s something between us. I feel it every time I touch you.” A shiver shook her and he lifted a brow. “You feel it, too, don’t you?”
Rebecca hesitated, uncertain whether to admit to the attraction. “I—I’m not sure what you mean.”
“That little jolt to the system. That rush of adrenaline.” He rolled his hands over her shoulders, shaping the gentle curves, then pushed his thumbs along the delicate curve of her collarbone. “I feel it. Even now. Don’t you?”
“Y-yes. I feel it.”
“Does it frighten you?”
“No. Not really.”
He stepped closer and let his hands slide down her back. “Scares the hell out of me.”
Shocked by his admission, she could only stare.
He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”
“Well…yes. You did.”
He looped his arms behind her waist and drew her to him, until he was pressed against her, their lips only a whisper away from a kiss. “It does scare me. But only because I know I want to make love with you and I’m not sure you’re ready to take that step with me.”
When she didn’t respond, he brushed his lips across hers. “Are you, Rebecca?” he asked her softly. “Are you ready to take that next step and share my bed with me? If you did, I’d want to make love with you. I’d start by kissing you here.” He drew back far enough to place a finger over the crease of her lips. With his gaze on hers, monitoring her response, he dragged the finger slowly over her chin, down her throat. “And here.”
Shivers chased down Rebecca’s spine as he dipped his finger into the hollow at the base of her throat. She felt the thundering of her pulse, and was sure he must feel it, too. But before she could will it to slow, before she could get a grip on her swirling emotions, he was sliding his finger down her chest until it rested in the valley between her breasts. Her skin burned where he touched her, her breasts ached for him to touch her there, as well.
He lowered his face over hers. “We’d make love for hours and hours,” he said, his voice growing husky. “Until one or both of us cried for mercy.”
He touched his lips to hers, and it was like touching a match to dry tinder, the taste he brought to her the headiest of wines. Inflamed by one and drunk on the other, she wound her arms around his neck and held his face to hers. At her urging, he deepened the kiss, and she strained against him, desperate for him to relieve the throbbing ache in her breasts.
He obliged, slipping his hands between their bodies, his touch that of a master as he opened his palms over the swells. He squeezed, and hot arrows of desire shot to her center, leaving her weak and trembling. Wanting to experience more of him, to taste more of him, she combed her fingers through his hair, fisted them in the longer lengths at his neck and parted her lips beneath his.
Again he obliged and slipped his tongue inside. The sensual sweep of his tongue over hers was like an aphrodisiac, dulling her mind to all but the feel of his body pressed against hers, the gentle kneading of his hands on her breasts, the desire that swirled low in her belly.
A sound swelled inside her and rose to push against his lips, ripe with need, resonant with longing.
“The house,” he murmured. He stooped and caught her behind her knees and swung her up into his arms. “I want you in my bed.”
Rebecca buried her face against the side of his neck, her body burning with need. She clung to him as he strode to the house, and silently prayed that she could go through with this. She’d never wanted any man, any thing, as badly as she wanted Rob at that moment.
When he reached the bedroom, he lowered her to his bed and followed her down, finding her lips with his again. She opened for him, and with a groan he stretched out over her and stabbed his tongue deeply into her mouth.
His weight only added to the sensations already churning inside her, the pressure of his thigh against her feminine mound the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever known. And when he pulled his mouth from hers and lifted his head to look down at her, the heat in his eyes touched her soul.
His gaze never once wavered from hers as he reached for the buttons of her blouse. “Hours,” he said huskily as he worked each disk free. “I’m going to make love with you for hours and hours and hours.” He pushed aside the front panels of her blouse, sighed, then unhooked the front closure of her bra with a deftness she would wonder about later. “Days,” he groaned as he freed her breasts and lowered his face over them.
She sucked in a breath when his lips first touched her flesh, held it in her lungs as he swept his tongue over an aching peak, then released it on a low, guttural moan when he opened his mouth over her completely and drew her in. The warmth of his breath set her nerve ends dancing beneath her skin. The rasp of his tongue across her nipple drove her mad.
But it was the greediness of his suckling that had her remembering the joy to be had in making love with a man, the thrill, the intense satisfaction derived in both giving and receiving pleasure.
She pushed at his chest. “I want to touch you,” she told him, and rolled him to his back. Rising to her knees at his side, she reached for his shirt. “I want to feel the heat of your flesh on mine.” Rob ripped open the fly to his jeans and shed them along with his underwear. She fumbled open the buttons, shoved the shirt over his shoulders…then sank back on her heels, awed by the masculine beauty of his sun-kissed skin, the obvious strength in the hardened muscles that lay beneath.
With a hum of delight, she placed her hands on his chest, mesmerized by the smooth texture of his skin, the difference in tone from hers; his stained a light cocoa by the sun, hers shades lighter. She spread her fingers wide, as if to measure the breadth, and felt the jump of muscle as her fingers bumped over his nipples.
Surprised by her ability to excite him so easily, and emboldened by it, as well, she shifted to straddle him and leaned to press her lips to his. When he tried to take possession of the kiss, to tug her hips up higher, she drew back. Although she wanted him inside her, as badly as he seemed to want her, she needed time more. Time to know him. Time to become familiar with him. His body. Time to make certain she had the courage to go through with this.
“No,” she told him, and inched backward, her knees rubbing sensually against his thighs. “I want to please you first.”
Rob wanted to stop her. Even reached out to grab her and tug her back. But then she touched her tongue to the tip of his sex, and his arms fell weakly to his sides, the strength drained from them. She slicked it around the head, circled it slowly, and he tensed, his body drawn as taut as a stretched bow, his hands fisted in the bedcovers.
Her aggressiveness shocked him, stunned him. Was this the same woman who had gone ballistic over a simple kiss? he wondered. But then she opened her mouth over him and took him in, her mouth a warm, moist glove around his length, and he lost all thought. All reason. All sense of time. His mind clouded with need, his body quaked with it.
Even as he silently prayed that she’d never stop, he knew he had to put an end to this before she drove him over the edge.
Rearing up, he hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her back down over him. He closed his mouth over hers, silencing her protests, then rolled and forced her beneath him. All but blinded by lust, he curled his fingers in the waist of her slacks and jerked, sending the button that secured them flying to bounce off the opposite wall. Her slacks followed closely behind.
He rose to his knees and tore off his shirt, tossed it aside. “I want you,” he said, his voice raw with need, his eyes on fire with it. “Now,” he warned. “Now.”
And then he was stretching out over her, his flesh grazing hers, until he found her mouth again. While he kissed her, he raced his hands over her body, across her face, down her shoulders, along her sides, tracing her shape, her features, setting her nerve endings on fire. She writhed beneath him, a silent plea for him to ease the ache that threatened to consume her.
Sensing her urgency, he linked his fingers with hers and dragged her hands above her head. Held them there as he thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth. Curled his fingers tighter around hers as he pressed the hardened length of his erection against her center.
For Rebecca, the depth of his passion was incredible, unbelievable. Thrilling.
Overpowering.
Smothering.
Threatening.
The panic slipped up on her so quickly, she was caught unawares. One minute she was making love with Rob, his body a welcome weight on hers, his hands those of a clever sculptor as he molded and remolded her flesh to meet his. His taste a seductive nectar she knew she would never lose her thirst for.
The next, it was Earl’s body that covered hers, a dead oppressive weight, pinning her down. It was Earl’s hands gripping hers, holding her rigid while he forced her lips to part beneath his. Earl’s tongue stabbing deeply and vilely into her mouth, choking her. Earl’s knee wedged between hers, prying her legs apart. Earl who shoved his sex forcefully against her center.
In her mind she screamed for him to stop, begged him to release her. But she knew Earl would ignore her pleas. He’d never listened to her before. He would rape her, abuse her body and her mind, as he’d done so many times during their marriage.
But she wouldn’t allow him to steal her soul, she told herself. Her soul was all she had left.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the humiliation of it all, the shame, and willed the tension from her body, from her mind. She wouldn’t fight him, she promised herself. Not this time. Fighting Earl only made things worse, increased his thrill, the pain he inflicted. She would feel nothing. Nothing. She’d numb her body to his touch, dull her mind to whatever degradations he forced upon her.
Rob sensed the change in Rebecca immediately. It was as if she’d melted beneath him. Become boneless. Her fingers falling lax between his. Her lips motionless. Her body limp. Deathlike.
He drew back to look at her and saw that her eyes were closed, her face slack as if in sleep. “Rebecca?”
He watched a tear leak from the corner of her eye, slide down her temple and plunk against the pillow. But she didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.
Frightened by her almost comatose state, he grabbed her shoulders. “Rebecca! What’s wrong?” His blood chilled when her head lolled back lifelessly. “Dammit, Rebecca!” he shouted, shaking her. “Talk to me! Tell me what’s wrong!”
He released her, his breath ragged, and opened his hands to look at them, fearing that in his impatience to have her, he’d hurt her in some way. His gut clenched in dread and he looked back at her…and saw her move. But only enough to turn onto her side and draw her knees to her chin. Her shoulders shook in silent, heartbreaking sobs.
Rob stared, his heart pounding wildly within his chest, goose bumps rising on his flesh. God! What had happened? What had he done? What—
No, he told himself, reining in the panic. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t hurt her. This wasn’t his doing. It was Rebecca’s…or rather her past’s. A flashback, he told himself. She must have experienced some kind of flashback.
Knowing how he handled the situation was important, crucial even to her successfully overcoming whatever atrocities she’d endured, he eased down behind her and curled his body protectively around hers. Careful to keep his movements slow, nonthreatening, he laid an arm in the curve of her waist and his head on the pillow next to hers.
He held her for what seemed like hours, gradually increasing the pressure of his arm around her waist until he had her tucked snugly in the curve of his body and against his chest. Her entire body trembled like a leaf.
“Rebecca?” he whispered close to her ear. “Baby, it’s okay. Everything’s all right now. I’ve got you. Rob,” he added, wanting to make sure she made the distinction between him and whatever man had put this kind of fear in her. “It’s me. Rob.”
He repeated the same words over and over and over, until his voice was hoarse, his throat raw, unsure if she heard him, but unwilling to stop until she did.
The voice slowly penetrated Rebecca’s mind, as if coming to her through a thick fog, cutting its way through the protective shield she’d built around herself. Masculine. Taut with worry. Husky, as it soothed. Muscle by muscle, her body relaxed, responding to the tenderness, the concern in the voice. Gradually she became aware of the body curved around hers, the strength in it, the protective cocoon it provided.
And then she remembered.
Rob.
It was Rob’s body curled around hers, Rob’s arms that held her close. Rob’s voice that whispered soothingly at her ear. Shame flooded through her, pushing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. He must think she was crazy. Mentally unbalanced. A sexual basket case. Twice now he’d attempted intimacy and both times she’d flipped out. Oh, God, she thought tearfully. How humiliating.
She had to get up, she told herself. She had to go home. She couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes or, worse, the revulsion she might find there.
Carefully she began to move away from him.
Rob sensed her withdrawal immediately and tightened his arm around her waist. “Are you okay now?” he asked quietly.
“Y-yes. I’m…I’m sorry.”
He heard the tears in her voice and pushed up to one elbow to look down at her. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him—or was it that she couldn’t bear for him to see her? He watched a tear leak from the corner of her eye to streak across the bridge of her nose. “Hey,” he murmured, and turned her to gather her into his arms. “There’s no need to cry. Everything’s okay now.”
She shook her head, her head bumping his chin. “It’s just so embarrassing,” she sobbed brokenly.
He hauled himself to a sitting position, pulling her up to cradle at his side. “What’s embarrassing?”
Furiously she pushed away from him. “Me!” she cried, stabbing a thumb at her chest, then pushed her arm out to include the bed, the situation. “This! You must think I’m crazy. Deranged! A sexual cripple.”
He caught her before she could roll from the bed, and dragged her back against his side. “No,” he said, and wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her there. “I don’t think that at all.”
Unable to break free from him, she bent forward and buried her face in her hands. “Well, you should,” she wailed miserably, “because I am.”
“You’re not.”
She snapped up her head to glare at him. “How would you know? You hardly know me.”
“I know enough to know you’ve been abused.”
The blood drained from her face.
“Why don’t you tell me about him, Rebecca?” he said quietly. “Tell me who hurt you?”
He watched the tears spill over her lower lashes, the slow fall of her chin to her chest. He sensed her embarrassment, her shame, understood it, and wanted desperately to free her of it.
He took her hands in his. “Rebecca. I want to help you.”
She shook her head. “You can’t. Nobody can.”
“I can if you’ll let me. Talk to me. Tell me what happened. If not about your past, then tell me what happened just now. Why you froze up on me.”