The Wedding Wager. Sara Orwig

spend the evening in candlelight with him. He had too many things going for him already.

      Still focusing conversation on his work, she followed him into the living area, where she curled up in a chair. Lights were low and Jared had switched on soft music, while rain still drummed outside and poured off the porch roof. He took the nearby sofa and placed a tray with their steaming cups of tea and coffee on the glass table in front of both of them. Usually, such surroundings would lend a cozy intimacy to the evening, but she planned to have her drink and get back to the bedroom and close the door on Jared for the night.

      As he answered her inquiries about his Dallas and Paris offices, his traveling and his houses, she wondered if she had made the mistake of her life. Should she have revealed to Jared long ago that he was the father of her son?

      Had she erred by never contacting Jared through the intervening years? The minute the question came, she knew if she had to do it all over again, she would do the same. Jared had walked out on her without a word, never contacting her until their encounter this morning.

      The simmering resentment boiled momentarily as she remembered her joy and his declarations of love, the wild passion between them and then … desertion. He didn’t contact her, give her any indication that anything was wrong—he left, and when she began to look for him, she discovered from his parents that he’d gone to Texas, where he’d taken a new job. They gave her his phone number, but she had no intention of calling him. The hurt had been monumental, compounded when she’d learned she was pregnant.

      To forgive and forget was impossible. Tonight, he wanted something from her, and therefore was flirting and charming once again; but there was a solid, lasting bedrock of pain that he’d caused.

      Still, guilt nagged and worry plagued her. Had she cut her son out of a relationship that would have enriched his life? Yet, how could a man who left like that have been that role model? He might not have paid any attention to him, which would have multiplied hurts.

      Again, she hated the painful memories—agonizing ones of Jared, hurtful moments with her father, who was enraged when he discovered her pregnancy. Jared had been gone two months by the time her father learned the truth, and from the first moment when the doctor had given her the news, she’d known that she would be alone when she had her baby.

      It hadn’t turned out that way, thanks to her aunt and uncle in Sioux Falls, who stood by her through Ethan’s birth.

      Jared tilted his head to give her another one of those quizzical looks that was so familiar. How often had she seen the same look from her son?

      “I think I’m talking far too much about my life. Tell me about yours,” Jared said. He sat back with one foot on his knee. A brilliant flash was followed by a window-rattling clap of thunder, and the lights dimmed and then went out.

      “Sit tight,” Jared said in the darkness. “We’re ready for the emergency.”

      With the next flash of lightning, she saw him standing, holding a candle. He began to light candles and place them in holders on the table.

      The hiss of rain could be heard clearly, since music no longer played. Candlelight flickered and bathed Jared in a golden glow, highlighting his prominent cheekbones, his thickly-lashed eyes, the cleft in his chin and the sheen in his well-trimmed black hair. Unbidden thoughts came, of running her hands through that thick hair which had a tendency to curl, particularly in damp weather. Most of the time, Jared fought the curls and kept them combed out as much as he could, taming them into slight waves. He sat again, closer to the end of the sofa and her chair. “You look gorgeous, especially in candlelight.”

      “Thank you,” she answered, hating the stab of pleasure his compliment gave her. “In candlelight everyone looks appealing. And on another topic—do you work more in the U.S. or abroad?”

      He looked amused as he answered. “A safer topic, as you wish. Far less interesting,” he said. “I’m in the U.S. the majority of the time. Did you move to Santa Fe when you started making pottery?”

      “Not right away,” she answered. She couldn’t imagine that he really cared what she’d done. “I worked for a decorator in Sioux Falls as well as on my own,” she continued. “I marketed through a Web site, and through the decorator. I thought it would be good to work in Santa Fe, so I moved and eventually went out on my own.”

      “I doubt if your dad liked you leaving here.”

      “No, he didn’t, but he decided it would be a good experience for me. I think he thought I’d fail and come home, despite the fact I’d even bought a house,” she replied, remembering how frightening it had been to move and go on her own with a small son. She had worried about Ethan and if the change would hurt him. The early years she’d lived with constant worry.

      “Did he ever recognize your talent?”

      She smiled. “Once I began to make sufficient money, my dad’s attitude changed.”

      “It usually does,” Jared said. “Nothing succeeds like success. It’s difficult to imagine you working in clay, though,” he said, taking her hands in his warm ones. “These hands don’t look like you’re a potter.”

      He turned her hands in his, intensifying a smoldering desire that she couldn’t extinguish with either anger or logic. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled her hands away.

      “I liked holding your hands,” Jared said in a husky voice.

      “It’s the storm and candlelight—and wine you had with dinner. I suspect you like holding the hand of almost any woman you spend the evening with.”

      He ran his finger along her cheek and studied her with a somber, intent look as he shook his head. “Perhaps, but this is different. I didn’t know when I came back here and saw you that it would be this way.”

      Her heart drummed along with her annoyance at him. She had no intention of letting him rekindle an unwanted physical attraction. To her dismay, he still held appeal, but her emotions battled it.

      Beyond her physical response to him, there was not only her smoldering rage over the hurt he’d inflicted by leaving but also icy fear over what he might discover about her now. To be in close proximity to him set her nerves on edge.

      “Jared, this isn’t a special moment, other than we may be having the rain of the year. Don’t pour on the compliments because I have something you want. You have a captive audience tonight, but don’t overdo it,” she said, thankful she could sound detached. Anything to keep an emotional distance between them. Yet her heart raced and his words weren’t going to be easily forgotten.

      He gave her a crooked smile. “That wasn’t the reason for the compliments, I promise you. Buying your ranch was the last thing on my mind,” he added, in that same husky voice that was a caress in itself.

      She finished her tea and stood. “I’ll turn in. I rise early.”

      He stood. “It’s early to turn in, Megan.”

      “Times change, Jared. We’re different people. I’ll take a candle.” When she reached to pick up her dishes, his hand closed around her wrist. The touch was light and casual, but the outcome was an unwanted skip of her heartbeat. Warmth suffused her beyond anything the hot tea had accomplished. Startled, she glanced up.

      “You know that’s not true. Leave the dishes,” he said, his husky voice revealing his reaction to the contact. She was bending over the table and he had leaned close to take her wrist. Now they were only inches apart, closer than before. Candlelight flickered with pinpoints of light reflected in his brown eyes.

      Once again she was captive, as she’d been beneath his volatile kisses—those kisses that had always set her ablaze.

      “Megan,” he said softly.

      “No,” she answered with little force. A pang of yearning tore her, instantly followed by anger that he could still have such an impact on her. Worse, she knew he was on the verge of a kiss she very much wanted. “No,” she repeated