Lone Star Winter. Diana Palmer

as he escorted her to the exit.

      “Yes, it is,” he agreed pleasantly. “I’ve seen it in a dozen different cities, but I still enjoy it.”

      “I guess you’ve been to the Metropolitan Opera in New York City?” she mused wistfully.

      “Several times,” he agreed.

      She imagined him there, with some beautiful woman in an expensive evening gown and wrapped in furs. It wasn’t far to imagine them going into a dark room together, where the coat and the evening gown were discarded. She swallowed hard and tried not to think about that.

      He could feel tension radiating from her. She was clinging so hard to that tiny purse that she was leaving the indentations of her nails in the soft leather.

      When they reached the Expedition, he opened the door for her, but held her back when she started to climb inside.

      “I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” he said gently. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

      Her wide eyes met his. “I thought I’d made you uncomfortable,” she blurted out.

      They stood just looking at each other until his lean face went harder than ever with the effort not to give in to the hunger she kindled in him.

      “You poor man,” she said huskily, wincing as she saw the pain in his eyes. “I know you’re lonely, Cy, that you just needed someone to hold for a few minutes. It’s all right. I didn’t read anything into it.”

      His eyes closed on a wave of pain that hit him like a bat. She reached up and pulled his face down to her lips. She kissed him tenderly, kissed his eyes, his nose, his cheek, his chin, with brief undemanding little brushes of her mouth that comforted in the most exquisite way.

      He took a ragged breath and his lean hands captured her shoulders, tightening there when he lifted his face away from her warm mouth. “Don’t do that,” he said tersely.

      “Why not?” she asked.

      “I don’t need comforting!” he said curtly.

      She moved back a step. He looked as if she’d done something outrageous, when she’d only meant to be kind. It irritated her that he had to be antagonistic about it. “Oh, I see,” she said, staring up at him. “Is this how it goes? ‘Men are tough, little woman,’” she drawled, deepening her voice and her drawl, “‘we can eat live snakes and chew through barbed wire. We don’t want women fussin’ over us!’” She grinned up at him deliberately.

      He glared at her, his eyes glittering.

      She raised her eyebrows. “Want me to apologize? Okay. I’m very sorry,” she added.

      His broad chest rose and fell heavily. “I want you to quit while you’re ahead,” he said in a tight voice.

      She stared at him without guile. “I don’t understand.”

      “Don’t you?” His smile was full of mockery and he was seeing a succession of women from his wild days who liked to tease and run away, but not too far away. His lean hands tightened on her shoulders as his eyes slid down her body. “Your husband didn’t tell you what teasing does to a man?”

      “Teasing…?” Her eyes widened. “Was I?” she asked, and seemed not to know.

      That fascinated expression was real. He did scowl then. “What you were doing…it arouses me,” he said bluntly.

      “You’re kidding!”

      He wanted to be angry. He couldn’t manage it. She did look so surprised…. He dropped his hands, laughing in wholesale defeat. “Get in the damned truck.”

      He half lifted her in and closed the door on her barely formed question.

      She was strapped in when he pulled himself up under the steering wheel, closed the door and reached for his seat belt.

      “You were kidding,” she persisted.

      He looked right into her eyes. “I wasn’t.” He frowned quizzically. “Don’t you know anything about men?”

      “I was married for two months,” she pointed out.

      “To a eunuch, apparently,” he said bluntly as he cranked the vehicle and pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. “I am pregnant,” she stated haughtily.

      He spared her an amused glance. “Pregnant and practically untouched,” he replied.

      She sighed, turning her attention to the city lights as he wound south through Houston to the long highway that would take them home to Jacobsville. “I guess it shows, huh?” she asked.

      He didn’t say anything for half a block or so. “Did you want him?”

      “At first,” she said. Her eyes sought his. “But not like I wanted you in the parking lot,” she said honestly. “Not ever like that.”

      A flash of ruddy color touched his cheekbones. He was shocked at her honesty.

      “Sorry, again,” she murmured, looking away. “I guess I haven’t learned restraint, either,” she added.

      He let out a long breath. “You take some getting used to,” he remarked.

      “Why?”

      His eyes met hers briefly before they went back to the highway. Rain was beginning to mist the windshield. He turned on the wipers. “I don’t expect honesty from a woman,” he said curtly.

      She frowned. “But surely your wife was honest.”

      “Why do you think so?”

      “It’s obvious that you loved your little boy,” she began.

      His laugh had the coldest ring to it that she’d ever heard. “She wanted an abortion. I threatened to take away her credit cards and she gave in and had him.”

      “That must have been a difficult time for you,” she said softly.

      “It was.” His jaw clenched. “She was surprised that I wanted her baby.”

      “Hers, and not yours?” she ventured.

      “Hers by one of her lovers,” he said bitterly. “She didn’t really know which one.”

      There was an abrupt silence on the other side of the truck. He glanced at her frozen features with curiosity. “What sort of marriage do you think I had? I was a mercenary. The women you meet in that profession aren’t the sort who sing in church choirs.”

      “How did you know I sang in the choir?” she asked, diverted.

      He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t, but it figures. You’re her exact opposite.”

      She was still trying to understand what he was saying. “You didn’t love her?”

      “No, I didn’t love her,” he replied. “We were good together in bed and I was tired of living alone. So, I married her. I never expected it to last, but I wanted a child. God knows why, I assumed it was mine.”

      “Why did she marry you if it wasn’t?”

      “She liked having ten credit cards and driving a Jaguar,” he said.

      That produced another frown.

      “I was rich, Lisa,” he told her. “I still am.”

      She pulled her coat tighter around her and stared out the window, not speaking. She was shocked and more uncertain about him than ever. He was such a complex person, so multifaceted that just when she thought she was getting to know him, he became a stranger all over again.

      “Now what is it?” he asked impatiently.

      “I hope you don’t think I agreed to come out with you…that I was eager to let you buy the ranch because…” She flushed and closed her mouth. She was