The Wedding Wager: Dakota Daddy

His thumb moved back and forth slowly, a feathery touch on her wrist, until he paused and she knew he was fully aware that she always reacted to the slightest contact.

Desire magnified, pounding with each heartbeat. Setting aside the candle, he slid his hand behind her head.

“Jared,” she whispered, a protest that came out a breathless invitation.

He drew her the last few inches and his mouth covered hers.

His warm lips moved caressingly, his tongue touching hers and then sliding deep into her mouth. Longing, physical and emotional, tugged at her even as she returned his passion. His other arm went around her waist and he stepped around the corner of the table to pull her body against his.

Once again, she was in his arms. How often had she dreamed of this moment, only to wake and discover it had been a fantasy. That Jared had still broken her heart so ruthlessly. Amazingly, here she was, actually kissing him, held in his strong embrace, finding him even sexier than she’d remembered.

Heat became fire. She fought the urge to wind her arms around him and press closer against him. Half of her longed for him desperately and the other half screamed to step away, to prevent what was happening.

His kisses burned wisdom to ashes. She kissed him hungrily, aching for more, knowing she was tumbling to disaster. Each second compounded her years-old need. Finally, she pushed against his chest.

He released her slowly, opening his eyes to study her in a heated silence.

“We’re not going back there, Jared,” she declared with a gasp. “I didn’t want that to happen. Don’t make anything of it. It meant nothing, except I haven’t kissed a man in a long time.”

“Don’t be so angry, Meg. I like kissing you,” he said in a husky voice that held such warmth she tingled from head to toe. “No harm intended and no damage done,” he added in unruffled assurance.

“Don’t!” she cried. “I’m turning in,” she said, circling the table in the opposite direction from Jared.

“You don’t have to escort me to the bedroom door,” she said, when he started toward her.

“Good night, Jared,” she stated firmly.

“I wish I could take away your anger. We were young, Megan.” His dark shirt was open at the throat and locks of hair had fallen over his forehead. Because of the rain, the natural curl in his hair had tightened and black curls framed his face.

She shook her head. “Good night,” she repeated.

Emotionally exhausted, she entered her bedroom.

Her lips were still warm from his kisses and she was on fire with craving. The manner in which she had responded to him tore at her. He had opened Pandora’s Box for her. She blamed it on not dating, but she kept busy and didn’t miss having a man in her life. Between work and taking care of Ethan and his activities, her life was full, busy, so she fell exhausted into bed at night. But with a kiss, Jared had effortlessly demolished all her defenses. One touch, one kiss and she had been mush, melting and kissing him back. He’d made her yearn for his kisses and the feel of his warm, muscular body.

All yearnings she didn’t want.

Crossing the room, she tried to forget that Jared was close, that he was soon to be undressed and stretched in bed. He used to sleep in the nude and she suspected he still did. Images plagued her, driving any chance of sleep away.

Why couldn’t she have remained aloof and showed him that he couldn’t stir her? Instead, she had responded passionately. She couldn’t stop going over it, even though thinking about it made her hot. How could she have responded like that to a man whom she despised?

And his one million …

Sell him the ranch and she’d never see or hear from him again. Logic said to sell. She would get an incredible price, be rid of something she didn’t care for anyway, She would sever most ties with South Dakota and only run a risk of seeing Jared when she visited her aunt and uncle. She would narrow the chances of Jared discovering what she had done.

On the other hand, she couldn’t bear to deed the ranch to him. Fury over the hurts he’d inflicted tempted her to strike out at him in any way she could. Retribution was too enticing, something she had dreamed about for the first years after Jared’s disappearance.

Plus, her father would never sell Jared the ranch. Her dad had hated the Daltons, despising Jared’s father because of their continual fights over water. Each one had accused the other of taking too much. Water fights had always spilled over into every other contact. If a fence went down, each man blamed the other.

She knew, too, her father had viewed Jared’s dad’s simple background with disdain, as if he were a peasant. When Jared had walked out on her, her father had hated him for hurting her, even though he had been doing his best to talk her out of marrying Jared when Jared had vanished. Many issues fueled the family feud.

Both sides of her argument were strong. Money versus emotional satisfaction.

When her father’s health began to fail, he had deeded the ranch to her. Upon his death, that decision became a safety net for her. It saved her time and money to have the ranch already in her possession, and left her free to sell it.

Each time she thought about Jared walking out on her and now coming back to buy the ranch, she felt as if she couldn’t bear to sell—at any price.

Was she harming herself and Ethan by her refusal to let Jared buy the ranch? The money would be more than enough to provide for Ethan’s education and a comfortable lifestyle they could never have otherwise. If she refused Jared, she might not get anywhere near her asking price from other buyers.

She was certain she would sell, but it could take a while—time she really didn’t want to devote to the care of the ranch. It took money to keep it running smoothly, and with her father’s failing health the past year, there were areas that had been neglected. The sensible business and professional approach was to sell to Jared or counter for an even higher amount—something she suspected he would agree to, to get what he wanted.

She knew she would pore over the arguments all night long. So far, the only person interested in the ranch had been Jared. She curled up in a chair near the window, watching the rain and flashes of lightning. Hopefully, once the rain stopped, the river would drop rapidly.

She rubbed her temples. Sleep would likely elude her for hours. To sell or not to sell? Stop remembering his touch and being aggravated with herself for succumbing to his slightest touch.

She paced to the window to stare outside, blowing out the candle to depend on lightning flashes for illumination.

If she would agree to sell the ranch, it would be the quickest way to get Jared out of her life. She stood at the window watching rivulets of water zigzag their way along the glass. Flashes of lightning revealed small rivers running through the yard and large silver puddles. The river would be high and impossible to cross, and the rain hadn’t slacked off any.

She returned to a chair to stare outside while her thoughts churned over her predicament. Far into the night, she fell asleep in the chair.

Dawn was streaked with rays of the rising sun, lifting her spirits and giving her hope that she could leave soon.

She still struggled with her decision. Because of her fury at Jared, and her father’s memory, she didn’t want to sell. Keeping the ranch when Jared wanted it would give her immense satisfaction and a bit of revenge.

At the same time, the argument to sell couldn’t be dismissed lightly.

She fell asleep in the chair, and woke undecided in the morning. Gathering her things, she headed to the bathroom to shower and dress in what she had worn the evening before. After combing her hair, she went to the kitchen, where she found Jared with a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved, gray Western shirt and boots, he looked irresistible.

“Good morning,” he said easily, walking over to her, his gaze roaming over her appreciatively. “You’re gorgeous—as you were last night,” he said, curling a lock of her hair around his fingers. “This is the way I like your hair best.” Catching the scent of his masculine aftershave, she felt her pulse kick up.

“Thank you for your compliment,” she replied, wishing she had done something else with her hair. She didn’t care to wear it in the style he liked best. “I’m a little overdressed for breakfast, but so be it.”

“I could loan you my jeans,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“No, thanks,” she answered quickly.

“I didn’t think you’d accept, but they wouldn’t fit you anyway. I cooked breakfast—help yourself to whatever you like,” he said, waving his hand toward covered dishes and pans on a stove. “Fruit is on the table. Would you like orange juice or tomato juice, milk, coffee—you can have all if you’d like.”

“Orange juice and coffee please,” she said, picking up a plate and looking at the many dishes. She helped herself to scrambled eggs, slices of kiwi and a bowl of blackberries. She had lost her appetite. As she watched him serve her juice and coffee, she knew she couldn’t bear to sell him the ranch, no matter how much refusing him cost her. She would get a bit of satisfying retaliation here.

“This is a huge breakfast. Do you cook often?”

“Not unless there’s no alternative. This morning we’re cut off from my kitchen help.”

“Looks like I’m here longer.” She carried her plate to the table where he sat facing her.

“There are all sorts of things we could do to fill the day,” he stated, causing her to look up sharply. When he gave her a disarming smile, she shook her head, smiling in return.