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“It’s too early in the morning for this outraged virgin routine, Tiff,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “We’re both adults.”
Her lips pressed together in anger. “Virginity isn’t the issue.”
He raised a brow in overt disbelief. “Then what is? Morality?”
“Sanity,” she shot back. “Your being in here borders on the insane. I don’t know who you are, what you want, where you live, why you’re here in the first place.... God, Zane, for all I know you could be married with a dozen kids.”
His dark glare silenced her. “I’m not married,” he said gruffly.
“Good. Because I certainly wouldn’t want some outraged wife calling me and demanding to talk to her husband.” He looked as if she had slapped him.
“I came in here to check on you last night and you’re acting as if I’m some kind of criminal, for God’s sake.”
She let out a ragged breath and her hands dropped to her sides. “It’s just that I don’t really know you,” she said softly.
“Sure you do,” he cajoled, his slate-colored eyes warming slightly when he noticed the flush of indignation on her cheeks.
Tiffany attempted to remain angry, but it was nearly impossible as she stared into Zane’s incredible gray eyes. They were a reflection of the man himself, sometimes dark with anger, other times filled with a compelling intimacy that touched her heart and caused her pulse to jump. Slowly, by calculated inches, this man was working his way into her heart. She felt more vulnerable and naked than she had in years. The emotions beginning to blossom within her had to be pushed aside. She couldn’t chance an involvement with him; it was far too dangerous.
Zane rubbed his eyes and stretched before smiling lazily. “Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”
“Dozens,” she returned sarcastically.
“Or that you’re gorgeous when you wake up?”
Tiffany swallowed back a lump in her throat. “Not quite as many.” She ran her long fingers through her knotted hair and slowly expelled a sigh. Arguing with him would get her nowhere. “I guess I haven’t been very hospitable this morning,” she conceded, lowering herself to a corner of the bed.
“Some people wake up in a bad mood.”
“Especially if they find a stranger in their room?”
His gray eyes touched hers and his voice lowered to an intimate whisper. “We’re not strangers.”
Her elegant brows arched skeptically. “No?”
“No.” He shook his head and frowned decisively.
“Then tell me,” she suggested as one long, nervous finger began tracing the line of delicate stitching on the hand-pieced quilt. “Just how would you describe our relationship?”
A mischievous light gleamed in his eyes and his voice lowered suggestively. “How about two strong-willed people thrown mercilessly together by the cruel tides of fate?”
Tiffany couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously—”
“Seriously?” He sobered instantly. “Why don’t we start as friends?”
She nodded silently to herself as if agreeing with an earlier-drawn conclusion. “Ah. Friends.” Looking up, she found Zane staring intensely at her. “Friendship isn’t formed in one night. Not when one of the ‘friends’ doesn’t know anything about the other.”
“Or suspects that he’s holding out on her?”
She stiffened slightly. “Right.” Folding her hands in her lap, she forced her eyes to meet the stormy gray of his. “You came here yesterday and announced that you intended to buy this farm. You also insisted that Devil’s Gambit was alive. These aren’t the usual kinds of statements to kick off an amiable relationship.”
Before he could respond, she pointed an accusing finger up at him and continued, “And there’s more to it than you’ve told me. I get the distinct impression you’re here for other reasons, that you were probably involved with Ellery in the past and you’re holding a grudge against him . . . or what used to be his before he died. . . .”
Zane didn’t deny it, but the mention of Ellery’s name caused his face to harden. An unspoken challenge flashed from his eyes.
“My husband is dead—”
“You think.” He rammed his fists into his pockets and walked over to one of the tall, paned windows. Leaning one shoulder against the window frame, he surveyed the farm. From his vantage point he could look past the white buildings near the house to the gently rolling hills in the distance. It was barely dawn. A gentle drizzle was falling, and wisps of fog had settled in the pockets between the hills to color the lush green meadows a hazy shade of blue.
