Page 88 of You'll Find Out
His dark eyebrows drew pensively together. “I suppose you might be right,” he reluctantly agreed. “But I can’t believe that you’re denying what you feel for me.”
“I’ve always known that I’m attracted to you and I thought that I loved you once . . . sometimes I think I still do.”
“But you’re not sure?”
She wanted to fall back into his arms and reassure him, to pledge the love she felt welling in her heart, but reason held her words at bay. “I’m just . . . trying not to get caught in the same trap I fell into before.”
A fleeting expression of pain crossed his face, but was quickly hidden beneath the hardening of his rugged features. “Is that what I did to you—‘trapped you’?” The thin thread of patience in his voice threatened to snap.
“I trapped myself.”
“And you’re not about to let it happen again.”
Her attempt at a frail smile faded. “I try not to repeat my mistakes.”
“With the one glaring exception of Gypsy Wind.”
Becca pursed her full lips. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of in this world, it’s that Gypsy Wind is no mistake.”
“What about your feelings, Rebecca? Can’t you trust them?”
“About horses, yes.”
“But not men?” He cocked an angry black brow.
“They’re more difficult,” she admitted.
He stepped back from her, leaned insolently against the railing, and crossed his arms over his chest.“They?I’m not talking about the other men in your life, Rebecca. I’m just trying to sort out how you feel about me . . . about what happened last night.”
She drew in an unsteady breath. “That’s not easy.”
His eyes narrowed and the gray pupils glittered like newly forged steel. Every muscle in his body tensed. “So what you’re attempting to say is that you have become the kind of woman who keeps all of her emotions under tight rein. Everything you do is well thought out in advance.”
“I mean that I try not to see the world through rose-colored glasses anymore—”
He cut her off. “So you’ve become a bitter, calculating woman who works men into her life when it’s convenient, or when she needs a favor.”
It took every ounce of strength in Becca’s heart to rise above the insult. “I hope not.”
Again he mocked her as he continued, “The kind of woman who can hop into bed with a man as part of a business deal.”
Her face flushed with anger. “Stop it, Brig. I’m not like that. You know it as well as I do.”
“I don’t think I know you at all. Not anymore. I was hoping that what we did last night meant something more to you than a quick one-night stand.”
“It does.”
“What?” he demanded. His voice was low, his eyes dangerous, his jaw determined.
“It would be easy for me to excuse what we did last night as an act of love.”
“Excuse? For God’s sake, woman, I’m too old for excuses!”
“Brig, what I feel for you is very strong and sometimes I delude myself into believing that I still love you,” she began hesitantly. “What happened last night happened because of a set of circumstances and the fact that we care for each other—”
“Care for?” he echoed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? ‘Care for’ is something you do for an elderly aunt!”
“Don’t insult me, Brig. I said that I care for you; it means exactly what it implies.”
