The Bachelor’s Surrender by Janelle Denison

chest and features determinedly set, she looked as stubborn as she was beautiful. And she was beautiful, even with her face freshly scrubbed and wearing an old, faded sleep shirt. He’d expected silk and lace from her, but she was proving to be more substance than frills. More practical than predictable . . . another trait he found too damn appealing.
    Grabbing a chair from the table, he spun it around, straddled the seat, and rested his arms along the back. “The floor is all yours, Ms. Richmond,” he said, inviting her to speak to end the confrontation.
    Her eyes flashed a bit of fire over the impertinent way he rolled her last name on his tongue, but she kept her own irritation tamped. “I want to apologize about this afternoon, and for the gentleman from the Cedar Creek Gazette showing up like he did.”
    “I agreed to let Chad stay here for a week,” he said, unable to conceal the edge to his voice. “I didn’t agree to a field day with the local paper.”
    Her eyes widened a fraction. “You think I set up that interview?”
    He lifted a brow, implicating her with that direct look. “Didn’t you?”
    Her body stiffened indignantly, and her lips pursed. “No, I didn’t. I can’t help it if the people in town are curious about you granting a foster child’s special request. What you’re doing for Chad is unique, and certainly charitable enough to pique human interest.”
    “I don’t appreciate having my privacy invaded.”
    “Whether you believe it or not, I respect your privacy,” she shot back, her tone exasperated. “But I don’t understand what is so bad about people hearing about what you’re doing for Chad, and Bright Beginnings.”
    “It’s none of their business!” Too late, he realized his tone was too harsh, and defensive enough to prompt Lauren to regard him speculatively, her gaze searching past barriers he’d erected the past year. The urge to bolt was strong, overwhelming almost, but he remained sitting, glaring at her in an unwavering stand-off.
    After a long, drawn out moment, she sighed as if to release some tension, and dragged her fingers through her silky hair. The shimmering warmth beckoned his own fingertips, made him wonder what the luxurious mass would feel like crushed in his hands, what her hair would smell like if he got close enough to breath in that scent. He imagined the fragrance of sunshine and wildflowers, and realized how long it had been since he’d appreciated such sweet, wholesome scents . . . and how badly he craved those essential, sensual indulgences with her.
    She tilted her head, her eyes a calming shade of blue. “What are you hiding from, Rafe?” she asked softly, intuitively.
    Her perception made him uneasy, and forced him to think about a part of his life he’d left behind, the wrong choices he was ashamed of, and the many mistakes he’d made. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Standing, he headed toward the refrigerator, ignoring the stiffness that had settled in his thigh.
    “Don’t you?” She watched him grab a can of soda, open it, and take a long drink. When the silence stretched between them with no answer from him, she continued. “For the past two months, every time Chad has brought you up, he’s talked about a fun-loving, carefree cowboy who wowed the crowds with his charm and gave of himself so selflessly to his fans. Where is that man?”
    “He no longer exists,” he said, his tone as flat and emotionless as he suddenly felt.
    “Is that why there isn’t a trace of that three time PRCA Bull Riding Champion in this house?” she asked, slowly closing the distance between them. “There’s no trophies, no plaques, nothing to indicate that you led an invigorating, exciting life before your accident.”
    “None of those material things matter.” Not when he weighed them against what he’d lost, the years he’d sacrificed, the hope that one more trophy, one more win, would satisfy his father, which it never