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“I . . . had no intention . . .”Of what? Making love to Ellery Rhodes’s woman? As just revenge for what he did to you?“. . . of letting things get so out of hand.”
She read the doubts on his face and closed her eyes. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” she murmured, trying to roll away from him. “But I seem to recall a man who, this very morning, matter-of-factly insisted that we become lovers.” Tears of embarrassment flooded her eyes.
“It’s not for lack of any wanting on my part,” he replied.
That much she didn’t doubt. She’d felt the intensity of his desire, witnessed the passion in his eyes, felt the doubts that had tormented him. “Then what?” she asked, reaching for her sweater. “Are you teasing me, trying to find a way to convince me to sell the farm to you?” she accused.
He flinched as if she had physically struck him, and his entire body tensed. “You know better than that.”
“I don’t think I know you at all. I think I let my feelings get in the way of my thinking.”
His fist balled impotently at his side and his face hardened. “Would you feel better about it, if we resumed what we started and I took you right here . . . even though Ellery might still be alive?”
“Of course not,” she gasped. Her blood had cooled and reason returned.
He reached out and tenderly pushed her hair from her eyes. “Then wait for me,” he asked, his voice low. “I just want to make sure that you won’t regret anything that might happen.”
“Are you sure you’re concerned for my feelings, or your own?”
“Oh, lady,” he whispered, forcing a sad smile. His fingers trembled slightly when he brushed a solitary tear from her eye. “Maybe a little of both.” He reached for her and his fingers wrapped possessively around her neck. Closing his eyes against the passion lingering in his blood, he kissed her sensuously on the lips. “I’ll be back. . . .”
Chapter Eight
“This isn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done, Missy,” Mac warned as he finished his coffee and pushed his hat onto his head. He scraped his chair back from the table and placed the empty cup on the tile counter, not far from the area where Louise was rolling dough.
“The least you could do is show a little support,” Tiffany teased. She smoothed the hem of her cream-colored linen suit and smiled at Mac’s obvious concern.
“After that newspaper article in theClarion,I’d think you’d have more sense than agree to another interview.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Louise chimed in as she placed a batch of cinnamon rolls in the oven.
“Okay, so the interview with Rod Crawford was a mistake. This one will be different.” Tiffany leaned against the counter and attempted to look confident.
“How’s that?” Mac’s reddish brows rose skeptically on his weathered face.
“The reporter from theTimesis Nancy Emerson, a roommate of mine from college.”
“Humph.” Louise was busily making the second batch of rolls and didn’t look up as she spread the cinnamon and sugar over the dough. “How do you know she won’t do the same thing that Crawford did? In my book a reporter’s a reporter. Period.”
“Nancy’s a professional.”
“So was Crawford.”
“I talked about the interview. I told her I would only do it if it didn’t turn out to be a hatchet job.”
“I bet she liked that,” Louise remarked sarcastically as she began furiously rolling the dough into a long cylinder. “It’s none of my business, mind you, but didn’t you bank on the reputation of theClarion?”
“Yes,” Tiffany said with a sigh.
Mac noted Tiffany’s distress. “Well, if you think you can trust her—”
“I just know that she won’t print lies,” Tiffany insisted. “She’s been with theTimesfor over six years and written dozens of articles on horse racing in America and abroad. She’s extremely knowledgeable and I figured she’d give an unbiased, honest report.” Tiffany lifted her palms in her own defense. “Look, I had to grant an interview with someone. I’ve had over a dozen calls from reporters in the past three days.”
“I can vouch for that,” Louise agreed as she sliced the rolls and arranged them in a pan.
Louise had insisted on working at the farm every day since Zane had left and Tiffany was grateful for the housekeeper’s support. Life on the farm had been hectic in the past few—had it only been four?—days. It seemed like a lifetime since she’d been with Zane.
“Well, I guess you had no choice,” Mac allowed.
