Darling Enemy

The next morning, Teddi went riding with Jenna and Blakely, keeping to herself, and eventually riding back alone to the ranch. It wasn’t kind to tag along after them when they were so obviously falling in love and wanted to be alone.

She gave the horse to the ranch hand at the stables and walked aimlessly toward the house. Mary had driven into Calgary to shop, and there was no one to talk to. She didn’t mind being alone here, though. It wasn’t like being alone in that spotless New York high-rise apartment with the doors bolted and chained for safety. Here, there was help within earshot all the time. She’d never felt afraid at Gray Stag—mainly because it was King’s domain, and she was afraid of nothing when King was around.

She walked into the house, idly wondering how much longer he’d be away. She was about to start up the stairs when King suddenly came down them, startling her.

He was wearing work clothes; a blue-patterned shirt open at the throat over worn jeans and dusty boots, and a straw Western hat jammed down over his blond hair at an arrogant angle.

“Where are they?” he asked without preamble.

“Your mother’s gone shopping,” she said uneasily.

“And Jenna?” he prodded, narrow-eyed.

She averted her gaze. “She’s, uh, out riding.”

“With Blakely?”

She glared at him. “What’s wrong with Blakely?”

Both eyebrows went up. “Did I say anything was?”

She shifted, running her hand along the highly polished banister. “Well, no,” she admitted reluctantly.

“You’re always ready to expect the worst of me, aren’t you?” he asked as he reached her, his eyes darkening as they slid over her face. She couldn’t have imagined the picture she made, with her short, dark hair framing her face, her brown eyes like crystal, her cheeks just faintly flushed. “Your mouth is as red as a cardinal’s breast.”

She searched his quiet eyes, stunned at the compliment, something she’d never expected from King. King—her enemy.

He moved down another step, easing her back against the bannister with the threat of his big body. He reached down and cupped her chin with a lean, strong hand. His thumb stroked her lower lip lightly.

“How old are you now?” he asked in a deep, taut voice.

She swallowed. He was too close, too disturbing, far too masculine. He smelled of the outdoors, of a woodsy cologne and cigarettes. “I’m twenty,” she said unsteadily. “I’ll be twenty-one in four months.”

“Too young,” he murmured. “Still years too young. Do you know how old I am, Teddi?”

“You...you’re thirty-three,” she whispered.

“Thirty-four,” he corrected. His eyes fell to her mouth and studied it for a long time. “God, what a sweet mouth!” he ground out. Then, as if the admission had annoyed him, he let her go abruptly and moved away toward the front door.

She stood staring helplessly after him, her eyes glued to the blue-patterned shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the blond head that seemed to throw off golden lights as he passed under the chandelier. She loved the way he walked, so tall and bronzed and regal. She loved everything about him.

He turned with the doorknob in hand and looked back at her suddenly, reading with pinpoint accuracy the aching hunger she was too young to disguise.

His face hardened. His hand tightened on the doorknob. He uttered a soft curse and whirled, slamming the door shut with a booted foot as he headed straight for her.

She watched him with eyes so filled with confusion they seemed black, her face lifting as he came closer.

She didn’t even protest when he reached for her, crushing her soft breasts against his chest as he bent to find her mouth in one smooth, expert motion.

She felt his hard lips burrow into hers with a sense of awe, her eyes closing so that she could savor their warmth and sensuality. She stiffened involuntarily as he tried to deepen the kiss, his tongue probing at her lips.

“Let me...” he ground out, grasping the hair at the nape of her neck to tug gently, surprising a gasp from her lips. As they parted, his tongue shot past them into the soft, dark warmth of her mouth, exploring, tasting, teasing, fencing with her own tongue in an intimacy she’d never liked with other men. But King made of it a pleasure beyond bearing, a caress so sensuous that her hands reached up to grasp his hard face between them and urge him even closer.