Outlaw Marriage. Laurie Paige

had been a lonely time for him. He’d returned to his grandfather’s ranch over in Elk Springs when he was fourteen or thereabouts, so the town gossips had reported. He’d been a rebel at the time, but hard work and a firm hand from his grandfather had soon put him to rights, the local story went.

      Not that Hope cared in the least about Collin’s past, but knowledge of one’s enemy was a good thing. She cleared her throat and nodded firmly.

      “Good morning. Please be seated,” she invited briskly, gesturing to the guest chair at the opposite side of the desk. Her tone was crisp, decisive.

      He casually pulled the chair to the side of the desk, angling it toward her, then sat and stretched out his long legs so that his black dress boots were within two feet of her chair.

      This action encroached on her space and forced her to angle her chair sideways to face him in a full frontal position, which she favored as one of greater power. It also put her feet within touching range of his, which further decreased the autonomy of her position.

      “So,” he said in his deep, pleasant baritone, “we meet again.”

      There was a world of innuendo in the statement. As if they’d been lovers or something in the not-too-distant past.

      “Yes,” she said coolly, and picked up the Kincaid file. She flipped it open and studied the first page without really seeing it. Realizing she was using the folder as a shield, she tossed it back onto the desk, disgusted with her cowardice. “I don’t see that we have anything more to discuss,” she said, deftly reminding him that he had been the one to request the meeting.

      “Don’t you?” he inquired with lazy humor.

      He laid his creamy white Stetson hat, which he’d been holding, on her credenza. She was chagrined with herself for not telling him to hang it on the antique lowboy beside her door. Now he was further ensconced in her space.

      In fact, she was beginning to feel surrounded by his confident masculinity. His eyes, as blue as the Montana sky, studied her. There was nothing lazy or humorous in that probing perusal. Her heart beat faster as she shifted uneasily in the executive chair.

      Annoyed, she told him, “Past meetings between our parties have not been productive.”

      “Well,” he drawled in that maddening Western accent, “your dad and my grandfather tend to get a mite heated on the subject. I thought you and I could discuss a possible settlement more fully without them being present.”

      His eyes raked over her navy-blue coat dress that fastened all the way down the front with red-and-white enameled buttons. He lingered at the last button, which was located four inches above the hemline. Her knee was visible in the slit thus created.

      Hope pulled her chair close to the desk so that her legs were hidden and twisted sideways from the waist so she could face him. “Does this mean you’re accepting our terms for settling the case?”

      He had the nerve to laugh. The crinkles appeared beside his eyes again and twin lines indented his lean cheeks. His teeth were very white in contrast to his tanned face. His lips curved alluringly at the corners. She stared at his mouth and wondered about his kiss, how it would feel, if his lips would be hard or tender as he touched hers—

      Appalled, she broke the thought and brought her wayward mind back to what he was saying.

      “Hardly. My grandfather would have apoplexy. He’s determined to provide a legacy for his other grandsons and has decided the Kincaid ranch here in Whitehorn is the perfect place. The way I see it, we can haggle over this for years in the courts and not do anyone any good, or we can iron out an agreement.”

      “What is your idea of an agreement?”

      “That Jordan buy what’s left of the old Baxter ranch from the trustees at the price they offered it to us and let the rest go.”

      Hope knew her father would never agree to anything less than the total original Baxter land. “Your grandfather has agreed to this?” she asked, probing for information.

      “Well, not exactly. He’s as stubborn as your father. The Baxter place was folded into the Kincaid spread years ago. Granddad wants to keep the ranch intact as it now stands.”

      “The sale of those two parcels was illegal since the original acquisition of the Baxter land was accomplished through fraudulent means,” she reminded him.

      He heaved a sigh. “Looks like we’re going to talk in circles.”

      She stood. “Then there’s no need to continue this meeting, is there?”

      He rose, too, a frown marring his good looks. “My idea was that if we each took the same proposition to your dad and my grandfather, maybe we could get them to agree. A year of haggling over this is more than enough.”

      His nearness bothered her. Standing no more than two feet away, she could feel the blanket of warmth from his body and the aura of confidence that came from the supreme ego that all the Kincaid men seemed to possess. She could smell soap and sandal-wood talc and aftershave.

      She became dizzy, the air suddenly close, hot and still. Stepping back, she bumped into her chair, causing her knees to buckle. “Oh!”

      With the quickness of a cat, his arms were there to steady her. She was engulfed by his heat, his scent, the protective cage of his arms and body.

      “Easy,” he murmured, his breath soft against the hair at her temple, his voice deep and gentle.

      Laying her hands against his chest, she made the mistake of looking up at him. Instead of pushing away as she’d intended, she was trapped within the depths of his eyes. Blue was supposed to be a cool color, but that wasn’t true of him. His gaze was blue…and hot. It burned down to some point in her that was suddenly agitated.

      She felt the quick lift of his chest in a sharply in-drawn breath, then the way he went very still, not releasing her, yet not taking advantage of their forced closeness.

      His lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, parted. His head bent toward hers.

      A quick, sharp need rose from that disturbed place inside her and made her tingle where they touched. She moistened her lips, then realizing what she was doing, clamped them tightly shut. Directing a glare his way, she tried to step back but was trapped between him and the chair.

      Panic, strange and harsh and lightning-fast, swept over her. Her breath caught. “Let me go,” she ordered.

      A second, an eternity, went by.

      She was aware of a struggle in him, one as elemental as the hunger in herself that shocked and angered her sense of rightness. He was the enemy. She had to remember that.

      He stepped back, sliding his hands from her back to her elbows to make sure she had her balance. “There now,” he murmured as if soothing a nervous filly.

      Shoving the chair aside, she retreated a full three feet away. “I will present your offer to my father,” she told him stiffly. She sounded breathless, which she didn’t like. It might be interpreted as weakness on her part.

      “We haven’t really discussed an offer yet. We’d better consider every facet and nail the details down before we jump in.” He picked up his hat. “It’s nearly noon. Let’s review it over lunch.”

      “I really don’t have time—”

      “It’s been a long spell since breakfast. I can’t talk on an empty stomach. The Hip Hop okay with you?”

      She hesitated, not sure she wasn’t being rushed into something she would regret. However, her father wanted progress on the case and the courts liked to see a show of cooperation, so maybe she’d better go along with this arrogant Kincaid who seemed to think he could persuade her to his view. Besides, it was noon and her breakfast of toast with peanut butter was long gone, too.

      “Yes, that will be fine.” She was pleased that she spoke in a firm tone. She sounded in charge once more,