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“He likes Logan just fine. Look, I’m really busy now. Why don’t you come back another time?” If she hadn’t been so leery of turning her back to him, she would have resumed peeling the potatoes.
“Yeah, I see you’re fixing dinner.” He paused to peer into the long enamel roasting pan on the counter. “Is that Calder beef there?”
“I wouldn’t know.” She was curt, wanting him gone and uncertain how to accomplish it.
Lath looked past her into the sink, eyeing the raw vegetables still sitting in the colander. “Potatoes, carrots, onions. Looks like it’s gonna be a real tasty meal. How does a fella go about wanglin’ an invitation to supper?”
“You aren’t welcome here, Lath.”
Shaking his head, he feigned a hurt look, his hands hooking themselves on the hips of his low-riding jeans. “Now, that ain’t a very neighborly attitude to take. An’ we are neighbors, you know. I live just up the road a few miles. Ma didn’t like it in town, so Rollie rented the old Simpson place.”
“How nice for your mother.”
“Yeah.” His glance drifted down to the front of her T-shirt, his eyes stripping her. “University of Texas, huh?”
Revolted by the almost physical touch of his gaze, Cat worked to keep her breathing slow and even. “I think you should leave. Right now.”
“That’s a pity, ’cause I was just thinkin’ about stayin’.” His eyes continued their downward focus. “Is that all Echohawk gave you—just that plain gold band?” Lath gestured toward the ring with a small lift of his hand.
Cat made the mistake of glancing at her wedding ring. In a flash, his hand snaked out and plucked the potato from her gasp as easily as he had snatched the fly moments ago. Grinning, Lath tossed the potato in the air a couple times, then took a crunching bite out of the peeled end.
“I always did like raw potatoes,” he said between chews. “Course, they’re better with some salt on ’em.”
Not trusting him, Cat retreated a step, moving sideways along the sink counter. “Get out of here, Lath.” She held the knife in a low, threatening position, her fingers tightly circled aroun
d it.
“If I don’t, you ain’t thinkin’ about cuttin’ me with that puny little knife, are you? ’Cause if you are, I’ll tell you right now that ain’t the way you hold a knife in a fight.”
“Just get out.” This time she kept her eyes on him and ignored the gesturing flick of his hand.
“You aren’t scared of me, are ya, little kitty-Cat.” Grinning cockily, Lath moved another step closer.
Cat retreated again, then sensed the closeness of the corner area and stopped. His grin lengthened as he began tossing the potato again.
Cat had the eerie feeling he was only toying with her.
“Feeling trapped, are you?”
“Stay away from me,” she warned.
“Catch.” Lath flipped the potato at her face.
Instinctively she blinked and pulled back from it. In that split second, his fingers closed around the wrist of her knife hand. Before she could strike out, he twisted her arm behind her back, turning her and slamming her against the counter, bending her forward over it and pinning her there with his hips. Cat tried to kick back at him and banged her knees into the cupboards. With her free hand, she groped the air behind her, trying to grab him. But he was out of reach.
Chuckling, he increased the pressure of his hips, wanting her to feel the hard outline of his erection. “Kinda hard to fight somebody when they’re behind ya, ain’t it?”
“Damn you, let me go!” She fought the terror that clogged her throat, a terror that came from discovering she was utterly helpless.
“Better quit that squirming. You’re getting me all excited.”
Cat froze, terror striking deep, but the instant he started grinding his hips against her in a suggestive way, she grabbed at the edge of the cupboard above her head and pushed with all her strength, straining to get the needed leverage to throw him back. He simply jerked her imprisoned arm higher, drawing a pained cry from her.
He kept up the pressure until her fingers released their grip on the cupboard and fell back to the counter. Even after he eased off, her shoulder continued to throb from the wrenching. She hunched from it, battling tears.
Her reprieve was short-lived as his hand slid under her T-shirt and wormed its way around to her breasts, pushing up her bra to release them. When she tried to grab at his hand, he simply twisted her arm again.
“Oh, baby, you got a great set of jugs,” Lath murmured, fondling them roughly. Revulsion rose like bile in her throat. “I’ll bet Echohawk loves wallowin’ in ’em at night.”
