“Is that what you thought that kiss was? The beginning of a seduction?”
She shrugged, nothing casual about the gesture. “It is our wedding night. I thought—”
“We’re friends. I wouldn’t rush you like that.”
He was only a few feet behind her now. She sensed his puzzled gaze drilling into her back, trying to discern what had panicked her. This would be a perfect time to tell him as her sister had encouraged her. Then she remembered some of the whispers said behind her back— Maybe she had asked for it. Maybe she’d led him on. They had been dating. She knew in her heart she hadn’t asked to be raped, but the shame of the act clung to her as though it were a second skin. Could she have done something differently to prevent it? Why couldn’t she have seen it coming? She had dated the man for several weeks, known him much longer, or so she’d thought.
“Tory, we talked about our marriage one day—being real in every sense. Have you changed your mind?”
Yes. No! How could she answer him when she was so torn up inside? She didn’t know what she wanted. What a mess!
“Have you, Tory?”
She wheeled around and faced him, praying her expression was neutral, that none of the anguish twisting her stomach was visible. She never wanted to hurt this special man, but she was afraid she would. “No—one day.” She looked toward Mirabelle’s stall, then back into his eyes. “Please be patient. We haven’t known each other long. Give me time.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “I had intended to do that very thing. A kiss isn’t making love, Tory.”
She sucked in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it. “I know. It’s just that I haven’t dated much. I’ve been so busy and…” She let her words trail off into the silence, hoping he drew the conclusion she’d led a sheltered life, which was true for the past four years, and even before that.
“I understand.”
You do? She almost said the words out loud but stopped herself before she revealed her doubts. Instead she said, “I think these past few weeks are finally catching up with me. I’m overreacting. I’m sorry, Slade.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. It will take a while for us to adjust to living under the same roof. And I agree. It has been a long few weeks. I think I’m gonna turn in now.”
“I’ll be up to the house soon.”
She watched him stride toward the entrance, his bearing suggesting the same weariness she felt. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, there had been a hurt expression in his eyes she’d glimpsed for a brief moment before he had managed to mask it. He didn’t really understand. How could he when there were times she didn’t?
She spun about to stare out the back door, looking toward the heavens. Dear God, I hurt Slade tonight. Please help me to make this marriage work. I’m in over my head. I don’t want to fail.
* * *
Bright light pricked her eyelids. Tory slowly opened her eyes to find not only sunlight flooding her bedroom but Mindy sitting on her bed with a huge grin on her face.
“What time is it?” Tory raised herself up on her elbows, the fog of sleep clouding her mind.
“Se-ven.”
“Seven!” Tory bolted straight up and peered at the clock on her beside table. “I overslept.”
Mindy surveyed the room. “Where’s—Dad-dy?”
“Uh—”
“Right here, hon.” Slade lounged against the doorjamb, cradling a mug in his hand.
The scent of coffee teased Tory, steam wafting to the ceiling. She could use a big cup— Oh, my gosh! One hand went to smooth her hair while the other pulled the sheet up nearly to her chin. Her face felt as hot as the steaming cup of coffee.
Mindy eased herself down off the bed and trudged toward her father. “Go-ing—to see—Belle.”
“Hold it, young lady,” Slade said as his daughter squeezed past him. “We’re going to breakfast in town in—” he checked his watch “—forty-five minutes. You need to be back here and cleaned up.”
“I—wi-ll.” Mindy disappeared from sight.
Tory clutched the sheet to her chest, wishing she had on her flannel nightgown she wore in the winter. Instead, she was dressed in a flimsy pair of short pajamas whose top had thin straps. She would have to remember in the future that she now shared a house with a man.
“Why didn’t you get me up earlier?” she asked, the hard edge to her voice she attributed to her nerves. It wasn’t every day she had a handsome man standing in her bedroom doorway, looking very appealing in a pair of tan slacks and navy blue Polo shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes. His conservatively cut hair was still damp from a shower, taken she realized in her bathroom. The thought again emphasized the awkward situation she found herself in.
“Because you didn’t come back to the house until after one. I thought you could use the sleep. You’ve been working nonstop for the past few weeks.”
Tory scanned the room for her robe. Where was it? When she spied it, it lay on a chair by the window. Too far for her to leap to and slip on without him noticing a few bare spots of skin. She had lived alone too long. She gestured toward the sky-blue cotton robe. “Would you get that for me, please?” The last word came out on a husky whisper, barely audible across the room.
One brow rose, his eyes locked with hers. Then he shrugged away from the door, strode to the chair and snatched up the short robe. When he brought her the garment, a smile was deep in his expression.
She grabbed the robe and slipped it on.
