did. He’d paid a price for the greed and aggression his father had instilled in him. He didn’t want, or need, visual reminders of the guilt he lived with on a daily basis.
She frowned, as if she didn’t understand. “Those things are a part of your past, and who you are.”
He laughed, the sound harsh and humorless. “This is who I am, Lauren. A simple cowboy who raises Quarter Horses and doesn’t like the fact that his life has been pried open for public speculation.”
“Why?” she persisted. “Are you afraid that people are going to see a caring side to you, which is going to totally shatter their illusion of the surly man you pretend to be so no one will try to get too close?”
“Leave it alone, Lauren.” Finished with his drink, and more than through with their conversation, he crushed the aluminum can, tossed it into the recycle bin, and moved around her.
“I have no idea why you’re so bitter, or why you chose to alienate yourself from the people of Cedar Creek, but don’t expect me to cater to that illusion,” she said, stopping him in his slow progress toward the kitchen door leading to the living room. She waited for him to turn around, then allowed a satisfied smile to curve her lips. “I call the shots as I see them, Rafe, and even though you want everyone to believe you’ve become this awful person, I know you’re a good, kind man.”
He pointed a finger at her, fury mixing with an inexplicable need to believe her words. He embraced the first emotion, which was easier for him to accept. “You know nothing about me.”
Her chin jutted out mutinously. “I know you’re a hero who feels burdened by the honorary title, resents it even.”
He bristled, and it took monumental effort for him to keep his voice from exploding with the anger that gripped him. “I never asked to be a hero, and I certainly didn’t do anything to deserve the title!”
“Except save another person’s life,” she retorted with dry sarcasm. “That’s about as heroic as it gets.”
His insides twisted relentlessly, the truth burning in his stomach like acid. If she only knew just how responsible he’d been for the tragedy that had taken place, she wouldn’t be so staunch in supporting him. But for as much as he knew the truth would shock her and serve as the barrier he needed to distance himself from this woman, he couldn’t bring himself to say the incriminating words out loud.
Frustrated at her zealous quest to portray him as a kind, compassionate man when he wanted no part of her fanciful notions, he grabbed her arm and tugged her close, intending to frighten her enough that she’d back off and leave him alone. The unexpected move threw her off balance, and she stumbled forward. Her hands automatically shot out to catch herself and landed on his chest. Her cool palms on his tight, heated skin sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire through him.
She appeared startled, but not at all alarmed by his rough handling, which only served to spike his temper another notch. He leaned close, so his face was inches from hers . . . so close that the feminine scent he’d imagined only moments before turned to drugging reality, so close that he witnessed the darkening of her eyes, the unconscious parting of her lips.
“You think I’m heroic?” he asked in a low, ferocious growl that rumbled in his chest. “Just for the record, darlin’, I don’t have a chivalrous bone in my entire body. I don’t give a damn about anything, or anyone, but myself.”
She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue, her eyes locked on his. Her body relaxed, flowing toward his until her thighs brushed sensually against his, and the tips of her breasts grazed his chest, beckoning to baser male temptation. Slowly, she stroked a hand upward, trailing her fingers over his shoulder, then settled them along the curve of his neck. An impudent light entered her gaze, and she smiled, of all things!
“I don’t believe you,” she
She frowned, as if she didn’t understand. “Those things are a part of your past, and who you are.”
He laughed, the sound harsh and humorless. “This is who I am, Lauren. A simple cowboy who raises Quarter Horses and doesn’t like the fact that his life has been pried open for public speculation.”
“Why?” she persisted. “Are you afraid that people are going to see a caring side to you, which is going to totally shatter their illusion of the surly man you pretend to be so no one will try to get too close?”
“Leave it alone, Lauren.” Finished with his drink, and more than through with their conversation, he crushed the aluminum can, tossed it into the recycle bin, and moved around her.
“I have no idea why you’re so bitter, or why you chose to alienate yourself from the people of Cedar Creek, but don’t expect me to cater to that illusion,” she said, stopping him in his slow progress toward the kitchen door leading to the living room. She waited for him to turn around, then allowed a satisfied smile to curve her lips. “I call the shots as I see them, Rafe, and even though you want everyone to believe you’ve become this awful person, I know you’re a good, kind man.”
He pointed a finger at her, fury mixing with an inexplicable need to believe her words. He embraced the first emotion, which was easier for him to accept. “You know nothing about me.”
Her chin jutted out mutinously. “I know you’re a hero who feels burdened by the honorary title, resents it even.”
He bristled, and it took monumental effort for him to keep his voice from exploding with the anger that gripped him. “I never asked to be a hero, and I certainly didn’t do anything to deserve the title!”
“Except save another person’s life,” she retorted with dry sarcasm. “That’s about as heroic as it gets.”
His insides twisted relentlessly, the truth burning in his stomach like acid. If she only knew just how responsible he’d been for the tragedy that had taken place, she wouldn’t be so staunch in supporting him. But for as much as he knew the truth would shock her and serve as the barrier he needed to distance himself from this woman, he couldn’t bring himself to say the incriminating words out loud.
Frustrated at her zealous quest to portray him as a kind, compassionate man when he wanted no part of her fanciful notions, he grabbed her arm and tugged her close, intending to frighten her enough that she’d back off and leave him alone. The unexpected move threw her off balance, and she stumbled forward. Her hands automatically shot out to catch herself and landed on his chest. Her cool palms on his tight, heated skin sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire through him.
She appeared startled, but not at all alarmed by his rough handling, which only served to spike his temper another notch. He leaned close, so his face was inches from hers . . . so close that the feminine scent he’d imagined only moments before turned to drugging reality, so close that he witnessed the darkening of her eyes, the unconscious parting of her lips.
“You think I’m heroic?” he asked in a low, ferocious growl that rumbled in his chest. “Just for the record, darlin’, I don’t have a chivalrous bone in my entire body. I don’t give a damn about anything, or anyone, but myself.”
She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue, her eyes locked on his. Her body relaxed, flowing toward his until her thighs brushed sensually against his, and the tips of her breasts grazed his chest, beckoning to baser male temptation. Slowly, she stroked a hand upward, trailing her fingers over his shoulder, then settled them along the curve of his neck. An impudent light entered her gaze, and she smiled, of all things!
“I don’t believe you,” she
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