always cooked as though she were expecting an army. It came from years of being surrounded by ranch hands and friends.
“Wouldn't that be a lot of trouble for you?” He looked hesitant, his big bulk suddenly seeming too large for the low ceilings, but Samantha quickly shook her head.
“Don't be silly. Caroline left enough food here for ten.” He laughed and followed her into the kitchen, and as they chatted about the ranch and the day's work, she set the table, and a few minutes later they were devouring the chicken and the salad as though they ate dinner together every day.
“What's New York like?” He looked at her, grinning, after he had finished his meal.
“Oh… crazy, I guess, is the best way to describe it. Too crowded, too noisy, too dirty, but exciting too. Everyone in New York seems to be doing something: going to the theater, starting a business, rehearsing for a ballet, going broke, getting rich, getting famous. It really isn't a place for mere mortals.”
“And you?” He eyed her carefully as she got up to pour them both coffee.
“I used to think I loved it.” She shrugged as she set down the cups of steaming coffee and sat down again. “Now sometimes I'm not so sure. It all seems terribly far away right now, and not very important. It's funny, three weeks ago I couldn't have left my office to get a haircut without calling three times in an hour just to make sure everything was okay. And now I've been gone for almost three weeks and who knows the difference? They don't. I don't. It's as if I never lived back there.” But she also knew that if she had flown back that night, by the next morning it would seem as though she had never left, and she would feel once again that she never could. “I think the thing about New York is that it's addictive. Once you break the habit, you're all right, but while you're hooked”- she smiled warmly at him-“watch out!”
“I've known women like that in my lifetime!” His eyes danced mischievously as he sipped the steaming coffee in the delicate white cup.
“Have you now, Mr. Jordan? Would you care to tell me about that?”
“Nope.” He smiled again. “What about you? Did you leave anyone waiting for you in New York, or did you run away from all of that too?”
Her eyes grew serious for a moment after he asked her and then she shook her head. “I didn't run away, Tate. I left. For a vacation…” She hesitated again. “A sabbatical, I think they called it at the office. And no, I didn't leave anyone waiting back there. I thought you understood all of that the other day.”
“It never hurts to ask.”
“I haven't been out with anyone since my husband.”
“Since August?” She was surprised that he had remembered but she nodded. “Don't you think it's about time?”
She didn't want to tell him that she was beginning to think so right now. “Maybe. It'll all happen at the right time.”
“Will it?” He spoke softly as he leaned toward her and kissed her as he had before. Once again she felt her heart pounding against the table as her body moved toward him, and with one hand he gently cupped her face as the other smoothed her silken hair. “My God, you're beautiful, Sam. You take my breath away, do you know that?” He kissed her again, and then pushed the plates across the table and pulled her toward him, until suddenly they were both breathless as they kissed in the silent house. It was then that Sam gently pulled away from him, with a small embarrassed smile on her lips.
“Aunt Caro would be shocked, Tate.”
“Would she?” He looked unconvinced. “Somehow I doubt that.” And at the same moment they both found themselves thinking of Caroline and Bill King on their little trip. They would probably spend the night together somewhere on the road. It made Sam think again of the little hidden cabin, and Tate smiled as his mind drifted back to it too. “If it weren't so dark we could ride out there. I liked being there with you, Sam.”
“At the cabin?” She had understood immediately what he had been thinking, and he nodded.
“I felt the other day”-his voice caressed her and he stood up-“as though it had been made just for us.” She smiled at him and slowly he pulled her to her feet until she stood before him, dwarfed by his size, her own tall frame tiny beside his, her breasts suddenly pressed against him as he pulled her to him, and her mouth hungry for his once again as gently he stroked her back and her hair. He pulled away then and his voice was only a whisper. “I know this sounds crazy, Sam, but I love you. I knew it the first time I saw you. I wanted to touch you and to hold you and to run my hands through that palomino hair.” He smiled gently down at her but Samantha looked pensive. “Do you believe me, Sam?”
Her big blue eyes found his green ones and she looked troubled. “I don't know what I believe, Tate. I was thinking of what I said to you the other day, that just making love with someone wouldn't be enough. Is that why you said all this?”
“No.” His voice was still a whisper, his mouth near her ear as he kissed her neck. “I said it because I mean it. I've been thinking about you a lot since the other day. What you want isn't different from what I feel, Sam.” His voice grew stronger as he reached out and took her hands. “You just want me to put words to my feelings. I'm not used to doing that. It's easier to say ‘I want to make love to you’ than it is to say ‘I love you.’ But I've never met a woman I've wanted as much as I want you.”
“Why?” She spoke in a hoarse whisper with all the hurt John had left her sharply etched in her eyes. “Why do you want me?”
“Because you're so lovely…” He reached out gently and touched her breasts with his powerful yet careful hands. “Because I like the way you laugh and the way you talk… and the way you ride that damn horse of Caro's… the way you work like an ox with the men even though you don't have to… because I like”-he grinned and let his hands slip around her-“the way your ass sits on top of your legs.” She laughed in answer and gently pushed his hands away. “Isn't that good enough reason?”
“Good enough reason for what, Mr. Jordan?” She was teasing him now as she turned away from him and began to clear the table, but before she could get their plates to the sink, he had taken them from her, set them down, and picked her up easily in his arms and carried her out of the room, making his way across the living room until he reached the long hall that led to her room. “Is this the way, Samantha?” His voice was ever so gentle and his eyes burned into hers. She wanted to tell him to stop, to turn back, but she found that she couldn't. She only nodded and pointed vaguely down the hall, and then, giggling suddenly, she pushed away from him.
“Come on… stop, Tate. Put me down!” His laughter joined hers but he didn't do as she told him. Instead he stopped at a halfway-opened door at the end of the hall.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms as he held her in his as though she were a very small child. “But I didn't invite you in, did I?”
“Didn't you?” One eyebrow rose and he crossed the threshold and looked around with interest. And then with no further words he set her down on the bed, took her in his arms, and kissed her hard on the mouth. The games between them were suddenly over, and the passion he unleashed in her took her very much by surprise. She was stunned at the force with which he held her to him, at the hunger of his mouth and his hands and his whole body as it reached out for hers. It seemed only moments later that he lay beside her and that her clothes seemed to melt away from her body, as did his. All she was aware of was the soft doeskin of his flesh against hers, the gentleness of his hands-ever searching, ever thrilling-the endless legs wound around hers, and his mouth drinking her own. He held her closer to him until she could bear it no longer and she pressed against him, moaning softly, longing to be his. It was then that he pulled away from her, that he looked hard into her eyes, asking her a question without words. Tate Jordan had never taken a woman, and would not take this one, not ever, and not now, unless this was what she wanted, unless he was certain, and as he searched her eyes she nodded slowly, and then seconds later he took her, pressing deep and hard into her flesh with his own. She gave a sharp gasp of pleasure as he thrust deeper, and then with another moan she let herself go to the ecstasy he brought her to again and again and again.
It seemed hours later when he lay still beside her, the room was dark, the house quiet, and she felt his long powerful body stretched out next to her, content, sated, and she felt with pleasure his lips gentle on her neck. “I love you, Palomino. I love you.” The words sounded so real, but suddenly she wanted to ask him “Do you?” Was it real? Would anyone ever really love her again? Love her and mean it, love her and not hurt her, love her and not go away? A small trickle of tears suddenly fell from the corner of her eye to the pillow, and he looked at her sadly and nodded his head. He pulled her into his arms then and cradled her gently, crooning to her softly meaningless words
