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Together, he and Zane had stood over the graves of Dan and Dave, their two comrades, and Zane had sworn he’d get even. He meant to do it too. Zane intended to go after Schuyler himself.
A chill raced down Carl’s spine at the thought of the terrorist. Schuyler was responsible for Zane’s injuries and for the death of two good friends and countless innocents.
Carl sat at his kitchen table, the manual for the tractor engine open in front of him. A knock sounded at his front door.
“Who’s there?” he demanded. Rarely did anyone disturb him here, which was just the way he wanted to keep it.
“Candy Hoffman.”
Carl nearly upset the table as he bolted upright. Candy Hoffman!
He decided to play it cool, and took his own sweet time getting to the door. She’d probably come to personally thank him for the flowers, and to apologize for the way she’d treated him earlier. As well she should.
He opened the door, but Candy wasn’t wearing a smile the way he assumed she would be. In fact, from the sour look she gave him, he wondered if she’d gotten his flowers. He almost asked, and probably would have if she hadn’t shoved a clipboard into his stomach.
“Sign here,” she demanded.
“For what?” he asked just as irritably.
“Someone has to sign for the delivery.”
“What delivery?”
She looked at him as though he should have his intelligence tested. “I seem to recall that you personally stepped into the shop and gave me a list this morning.”
“Oh.” It didn’t take him long to recover. “I thought you said you didn’t want my business.”
“You changed your mind, didn’t you?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I changed mine. You want these supplies or don’t you?”
“All right, all right,” he grumbled under his breath. There wasn’t a pen with the board so he walked over and pulled open the kitchen drawer, searching for one.
“Thank you for the flowers.”
He almost didn’t hear her—the words were so low. He looked up and their eyes met. Candy didn’t look the way she normally did, with her eyes snapping at him, just waiting to leap on some comment he made. Her eyes were all soft and feminine. Tender like. His stomach clenched the way it had when she’d told him about Showberg touching her in places she didn’t want to be touched.
With difficulty, he pulled his gaze away from her. Because of the effect she had on him, his voice was sharp and unfriendly when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to upset you this morning.”
“Are you saying you want to be friends, Carl Saks?” she asked defiantly. She held herself stiff, almost as if she were afraid of his answer.
The frustration in Carl reached the boiling point. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said angrily. “You just don’t get it.”
“Get what?” she asked just as loudly.
The best way to tell her was to give her an example. He tossed the clipboard aside and started toward her, cutting the distance between them in four strides.
A lesser woman would have hightailed it in a dead run. And the way he was feeling right then, it might have been better if Candy had.
She didn’t fight him when he wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her forcefully against him. He knew when he kissed her that his mouth was hungry and hard. For weeks, he’d been thinking of doing just this. Ever since the first time in the stable. He’d burned with a hungry need to kiss her again. What angered him the most was that Candy hadn’t a clue how he felt about her.
Nothing he’d said or did eased the fire. It threatened now to burn out of control.
He pulled her blouse free of her waistband, all the while kissing her. She made soft, incoherent noises, as their mouths twisted against each other.
Their kisses grew deeper, more intense and physically demanding. Carl had expected her to scratch his eyes out before now, but she gave as good as she got, clinging to him, whimpering and moaning. Knowing she was as hot for him as he was for her, fueled his actions.
“What is it you want?”
“You…I want you.”
