you.'
Rebecca mulled it over as she sipped. 'It's a possibility. But even that would be an experience. I've never been close enough to a man to be hurt by one.'
She moved over to the window to look out. She could see him, in the field, riding a tractor. Just as she'd imagined. No, it wasn't a tractor, she remembered. A baler. He'd be making hay.
'I love looking at him,' she murmured.
'None of them are hard on the eyes,' Regan commented as she joined Rebecca at the window. 'And none of them are easy on the heart.' She laid a hand on Rebecca's shoulder. 'Just be careful.'
But Rebecca felt she'd been careful too long already.
She couldn't even cook. Shane had never known anyone who was incapable of doing more at a stove than heating up a can of soup. And even that, for Rebecca, was a project of momentous proportions.
He didn't mind her being there. He'd talked himself into that. He liked her company, was certain he would eventually charm her into bed, but he hated her reasons for moving in.
Her equipment was everywhere—in the kitchen, the living room, in the guest room. He couldn't walk through his own house without facing a camera.
It baffled him that an obviously intelligent woman actually believed she was going to take videos of ghosts.
Still, there were some advantages. If he cooked, she cheerfully did the clearing-up. And it wasn't a hardship to come in from the fields or the barn and find her at the kitchen table, making her notes on her little laptop computer.
She claimed she felt most at home in the kitchen— though she didn't know a skillet from a saucepan—so she spent most of her time there.
He'd gotten through the first night, though it was true that he'd done a great deal of tossing and turning at the idea that she was just down the hall. And if he'd been gritty-eyed and cranky the next morning, he'd worked it off by the time he finished the milking and came in to cook breakfast.
And she came down for breakfast, he reflected. Though she didn't eat much—barely, in his opinion, enough to sustain life. But she drank coffee, shared the morning paper with him, asked questions. Lord, the woman was full of questions.
Still, it was pleasant to have company over the first meal of the day. Someone who looked good, smelled good, had something to say for herself. The problem was, he found himself thinking about how she had looked, had smelled, what she had said, when he went out to work.
He couldn't remember another woman hanging in his mind quite so long, or quite so strongly. That was something that could worry a man, if he let it.
Shane MacKade didn't like to worry. And he wasn't used to thinking about a woman who didn't seem to be giving him the same amount of attention.
It was simply a matter of adjustment—or so he told himself. She was a guest in his home now, and a man didn't take advantage of a guest. Which was why he wanted her out again as soon as possible—so that he could.
And if he just didn't think overmuch about how pretty she looked, tapping away at her keyboard, those little round glasses perched on her nose, the eyes behind them dark with concentration, her long, narrow feet crossed neatly at the ankles, he didn't suffer.
But, damn it, how was he supposed to
When he banged a pot for the third time, Rebecca tipped down her glasses and peered at him over them. 'Shane, I don't want you to feel that you have to cook for me.'
'You're not going to do it,' he muttered.
'I can dial the telephone. Why don't I order something and have it delivered?'
He turned then, his eyes bland. 'You're not in New York now, sweetie. Nobody delivers out here.'
'Oh.' She let out a little sigh, took off her glasses. There was tension radiating from him. Then again, there was always something radiating from him. He was the most... alive, she decided... man she'd ever come across.
And right now he seemed terribly tense. Probably a cow problem. Sympathetic, she rose to go over and rub his shoulders. 'You've had a rough one. It must be tiring working in the fields like that, hours on end, then dealing with the stock.'
'It's easier on a decent night's sleep,' he said through gritted teeth. Her bony hands were only tensing muscles that already ached.
'You're awfully tight. Why don't you sit down? I'll open a can of something, make sandwiches.'
'I don't want a sandwich.'
'It's the best I can do.'
He spun around, caught her. 'I want you.'
Her heart lurched, did a quick, nervous jig in her throat before she managed to swallow it. 'Yes, I believe we've established that.' She didn't gulp audibly, didn't tremble noticeably. The temper in his eyes was easier to face than the passion beneath it. 'You also agreed to a professional atmosphere.'
'I know what I agreed to.' His eyes, green and stormy, bored into hers. 'I don't have to like it.'
'No, you don't. Has it occurred to you that you're angry because I'm not reacting in the manner you're accustomed to having women react?'
'We're not talking about women. We're talking about you. You and me, here and now.'
'We're talking about sex,' she answered, and gave his arms a squeeze before backing away. 'And I'm considering it.'
'Considering it?' He could have throttled her. 'What, like considering whether to have chicken or fish for dinner? Nobody's that cold-blooded.'
'It's sensible. Deal with it.' With a jerk of her shoulder, she went back to the table and sat.
Deal with it? he thought, boiling over. 'Is that right? So you'll let me know when you've finished considering and come to a conclusion?'
'You'll be the first,' she told him, and slipped on her glasses.
He battled back temper. It was a hard war to win, for a MacKade. Cold-blooded reason was what she understood, he decided. So he'd give it to her, and hoped she choked on it.
'You know, now that I'm considering, it occurs to me that you may be a little cool for my taste, and definitely bony. I like a wanner, softer sort.'
She felt her jaw clench, then deliberately relaxed it. 'A good try, farm boy. Uninterest, insult and challenge. I'm sure it works a good percentage of the time.' She made herself smile at him. 'But you're going to have to do better with me.'
'Right now, I'll do better without you.' Since he obviously wasn't going to win where he was, he strode to the door and out. All he needed was to decide which one of his brothers to go pick a fight with.
Rebecca let out a long breath and took her glasses off so that she could rub her hands over her face. That, she thought, had been a close one. How could she have known that the barely controlled fury, the frazzled desire, that absolutely innate arrogance of his, would be so exciting, so endearing?
She'd almost given in. The instant he whirled around and grabbed her, she might have thrown any lingering doubts to the winds. But...
There would have been no way to control any part of the situation, with him in that volatile mood. She would have been taken. And as glorious as that sounded in theory, she was afraid of the fact.
If he only knew she was waiting now only to settle her own nerves and to be certain he was calm. She knew that when Shane was calm, and amused, he would be a delightful and tender lover. Edgy and needy, he'd be demanding, impatient.
So they would both wait until the moment was right.
She sat back, her eyes closed. It was peaceful now, with that whirlwind Shane could create around him gone. She missed it, a little, even as she reveled in the quiet. She found it so easy to relax here, in this room, in this house. Even the creak of the boards settling at night was comforting.
And the smell of wood smoke and meat cooking, the hint of cinnamon and apple, the muffled crackle of the fire behind the door of the stove. Such things made home home, after all___
