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She looked up at him suddenly, met his gaze. "Im no . . . virgin. "
He was so surprised, both by her words and her attitude, that it took him a second to answer. "Youre not?"
"No," she said with a hint of something in her voice—perhaps pride, maybe pain.
"So you wont be ruining me. That jobs been adequately handled by someone else.
And—" she hesitated a heartbeat, then went on steadily "—I cant have children, so youve no problem on that account. "
He heard the pain in her voice, and knew what that confession had cost her. It moved him immeasurably, her gutsy attempt at courage. He knew how easy, how safe, it was to be casual about the important things. It was a defense hed used a hundred times in his life. Hit em before they hit you.
Obviously Mariah was a woman whod wanted children, desperately. He remembered the baby blanket, and suddenly it all made sense. Shed embroidered it long ago, waiting, hoping.
Sadness tightened his chest. Once again he felt that strange, inexplicable need to comfort her. He brushed a strand of hair from her lip. "Im sorry . . . about the children. But doctors cap be wrong. . . . Theyre wrong all the time. . . . "
"I dont want your pity. " She smiled, but it was a strained, hurting expression. "I want your body. "
He laughed in spite of himself. "Jesus, Mariah—"
Her smile faded. She gazed up at him with heartbreaking seriousness. "Ive been stuck on this farm for years, running away from everything and everyone. I dont want to run anymore. Please . . . make love to me, Mad Dog___"
The softly spoken words hit him like a punch to the gut. Christ, hed never had a woman say that to him before. Make love to me in that quivering, desperate voice. It tore through his resolve and started a red-hot fire in his groin.
He looked away, balled his hands into painful fists.
She shouldnt be standing there, looking so damn beautiful and vulnerable, asking him to make love to her. Not a lady like her; not to a man like him.
He should get the hell out of
here, right now, just grab his shit and hit the road and never look back. Walk. Run. Ride. Anything to keep her from looking at him again, from touching him, from uttering those shattering words: Make love to me.
"Have . . . " Her voice fell to a throaty whisper. "Have you changed your mind about wanting me?"
He laughed sharply and looked away. "Hardly. "
His answer seemed to give her courage. Slowly she moved toward him, until she was standing close enough to be kissed. The heat from her body was a tangible, erotic presence that filled his senses. She smelled of soap and water and wildflowers.
She looked up; he looked down.
"Is something . . . wrong with me?"
He flinched. "Youre not easy, goddamn it. Dont you see?"
She tried to smile. "I believe Im being extremely easy right now. "
"Im no good for you," he whispered in a harsh, throaty voice.
"I dont care___"
"Ill leave you. "
"Dont you think I know that?" Her voice was reed-thin, almost frightened. "All I want is a night—one night—to keep me warm on all the long winter nights when Ill have no one. Is that so much to ask?"
He stared down into the warm bourbon of her eyes and felt like he was falling.
Jesus, suddenly it hurt not to touch her. He wanted her so badly.
"Youre worth more than that, Mariah. "
