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“Nor me,” he admitted. “I was tested last year. Twice. Since then I’ve been careful. Until now.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast.
“It’s you I worry about,” he said as if he hated the words. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Neither did I, but there it is.” She was near tears again. This should have been the happiest, most definitive moment of her life. Instead, she wanted to melt away. Already he regretted making love to her. “We’re both adults. You didn’t force me into doing anything I wasn’t ready for.” With renewed energy, she pulled away from him. “Let me go, Mason.”
“I can’t.” He held her fast. “Why me, Bliss?”
“I told you it was time.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Meaning what?” she demanded. “That I was waiting for you? Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted, staring at her as if for the first time. “But you’re over twenty-five and—”
“Don’t remind me, okay?” she said jerkily. Yes, she’d been a virgin, and no, she didn’t have a husband or children or any reason to think she would anytime soon, and though those things bothered her, she wasn’t going to let them get her down. She was young, had a career, a life in Seattle. She didn’t need Mason’s pity.
No, only his love.
“Bliss, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Look, you don’t have to say anything, okay?” She wrenched away from him and this time he let her go. Quickly, before she broke down altogether, she snatched up her clothes and dressed, sliding her legs into her panties and jeans, still feeling new and achingly feminine. As she buttoned her blouse, she whistled to her horse, and Mason, still naked as the day he was born, grabbed hold of her hand.
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Bliss, I think we should talk.”
“Maybe we should have talked more before we…we—”
“Made love?”
Oh, God. Her throat tightened and she blinked against a wash of tears. She couldn’t face him, didn’t want to cry like some fragile female, some spoiled princess, for heaven’s sake! She had to get away, had to avoid saying something she would regret. “I—I have to go.”
“You’re running away,” he accused.
“Like you did?” The minute the words were out, she regretted them. She saw the tensing of each of his muscles, the dark fury in his eyes. “Forget I said that. But don’t accuse me, okay? Maybe I am running away. I don’t know. But I need time, Mason, to think all this through.”
“Ten years wasn’t enough?”
She glanced up and stared into eyes as clear and amber as priceless Scotch. “I guess not.” She pulled her hand away and, though her heart was breaking, managed a sad smile. “Goodbye, Mason,” she said, hating the finality of the words.
“It was good, but now it’s over?” he asked, taunting her.
“It was good, but it never really began.” She swung into the saddle and didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Because if she saw him again, all hard sinew, muscle and bone, his face chiseled and strong, she’d never be able to look away again. She loved him, that much was certain, and it was a cross she would bear for the rest of her life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You had to do it, didn’t you?” Mason glared at his reflection in the steamy mirror, scraped away a swath of shaving cream and whiskers and mentally kicked himself for having made love to Bliss.
Though he’d had no conscious plan to seduce her, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from spending more time with her, from seeing her, from suggesting the evening horseback ride to the ridge. Pursing his lips, he tried to avoid cutting himself as he finished shaving, then washed his face. He was standing naked in front of the mirror and had the fleeting thought that if Bliss were in the room, he probably should wear a towel wrapped around his waist, or his boxer shorts.
He stiffened just at the thought of her and ground out several oaths. What was he thinking? Why the devil would Bliss ever be in his bathroom in the morning? Just because they’d made love didn’t mean that they ever would again, that they were having an affair, for the love of Pete, or that they might consider tying the knot.
As he threw on his clothes, his mind was running in wild, perilous circles. Just as it had all night. Throughout the long, dark hours, he’d been haunted by the image of Bliss’s perfect face, the fragrance of her skin, the sound of her laughter. There had also been worries about Dee Dee and thoughts of another sort—memories of the years he’d struggled to prove to himself and the rest of the world that he was as good as anyone else, that the poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks could make good.
