A Tradition of Pride (12 page)

"You wanted to make love to me, didn't you?" Rans stated, his chiseled expression revealing nothing, not even the effects of the lust-filled moments they had shared.

"Yes. Yes.
Yes!"
Her voice rising in a crescendo of hurt and humiliation, ending with a cymbal crashing, "I hate you!"

He seemed to find her vehemence amusing. He studied the movement of his thumb as it rubbed the wetness of her tear on his finger. With animal litheness, he rolled to his feet, towering above her while Lara glared at him, her head thrown back proudly.

"Poor Mrs. Cochran," he said with cutting laughter in his voice. "You are human, after all."

Her eyes filled with tears, as if somewhere a dam had burst. Blinded by the flood, Lara didn't see Rans leave. She only heard the closing of the stable door. Salty tears ran down her cheeks, their briny taste coating her lips.

It was nearly half an hour before she had sufficient control of herself to sneak back into the house. In the privacy of her room it started all over again. She had once sworn that she would never let a man hurt her again, but she had never expected to meet anyone like Rans MacQuade.

The next morning Lara had to force herself to go downstairs to join her father and Trevor at the breakfast table. She was certain they would notice the change in her. The shell that had protected her was gone. She was a vulnerable woman again. Neither of them—and not even Sara, who knew her so well — appeared to see any difference in her. She felt temporarily safe for a little while longer.

But the moment she dreaded most of all had not yet occurred. She still had to meet Rans face to face. The more days that went by without it happening, the more she dreaded the confrontation. Would pride keep her composed or would she dissolve like a bowl of gelatin at the sight of him, remembering the way she had humiliated herself in his arms?

When the moment came, Lara still wasn't prepared for it. She and Sara had finished the evening dishes and Lara was on her way to her room, intending to hide there behind the pages of a book. As she crossed the entry hall to the staircase, the study door opened and her father stepped out.

"Lara, are you busy?" Martin Alexander halted just outside the opened door.

She hesitated, then turned away from the stairs to walk toward her father. "Not particularly. Why?"

"Would you bring a pot of coffee into the study?" he asked. "Rans and I are discussing the chapter outlines of my book."

Her gaze flew past him through the open door, riveting on the man, in the chair facing the desk. The study light gleamed over the dark golden brown of his hair. Her pulse leaped and there was a crazy singing in her ears. For an instant Lara was afraid she would faint, then she regained control of her senses.

"Of course, I will, daddy," she agreed, planning to deputize Sara to bring the pot.

"And bring three cups," he instructed.

"Three?" she frowned.

"Yes, I want you to join us."

Lara swallowed, smiling nervously. "Another time, maybe. There were, uh, some things I wanted to get done tonight."

He waved the protest aside. "Let them wait."

"But you will be talking about the book, technical things—"

"Exactly," Martin nodded. "Rans seems to think I should have separate chapters on disease and insects, because—well, never mind. We'll go into the reasons later, but I want your opinion too." The matter was settled as far as he was concerned and he turned to reenter the study, pausing to add, "You might bring some of Sara's pecan tarts with the coffee."

Then he was inside, closing the door. Lara was left standing there, her mind still racing to find a suitable excuse to refuse. She stared at the door for a long second before deciding that she was foolish to prolong this meeting. It was best to get it over with.

Wings from a million butterflies fluttered madly in her stomach she walked to the kitchen. Her throat was dry and tight, with hardly enough moisture in her mouth to swallow. She poured the coffee into the thermos server and set it on the tray with the cups and saucers, adding a plate of Sara's tarts.

At the study door, Lara took a deep breath to steady her jumping nerves, balanced the tray on one hand and opened the door. As she walked in, her gaze was magnetically drawn to Rans, sliding away when he politely rose at her entrance.

"Here's your coffee and sweet, daddy." She walked to the second leather chair in front of the desk, setting the tray atop the cleared space on the desk. Her glance ricocheted off Rans's carved features. "Good evening, Mr. MacQuade."

"Mrs. Cochran." He acknowledged her greeting smoothly.

He continued to stand, setting off the butterflies again in her stomach with the way he towered muscularly beside her. "Please sit down," Lara insisted with a forced smile.

Another glance in his direction was caught by his brown eyes. He appeared aloof and remarkably indifferent to her, as if the incident in the stable had happened to two other people. Nothing in his ex pression revealed even a hint of taunting mockery.

A little sigh of relief quivered through her as she turned to her father. "Would you like me to pour?"

"Please." He looked up from the notes in his hand. "Do you take anything in your coffee, Rans? Sugar? Cream? Honey?"

"Nothing, thank you."

There was only a slight trembling of her hand as Lara poured the coffee into the three cups, adding honey to her father's and setting it to the right of him. The cup for Rans jiggled in its saucer when she picked it up to hand it to him.

His tanned fingers were reaching out for it, but his attention was diverted by her father bringing up some point about his book. Lara didn't hear it. She was too busy concentrating on maintaining her composure.

As his hand closed over the saucer, it accidentally, came in contact with Lara's. An electric current seemed to spring from his touch, jolting her so that she jerked her fingers back. Her action was not swift enough to elude the cup of coffee as it tipped, spilling its nearly boiling contents on the back of her hand.

The clatter of the cup in its china saucer and Lara's stifled cry of pain instantly had both men's attention. She was gripping her wrist, the fingers of her injured hand spread. Her skin was already turning a fiery red from the scalding liquid.

"What happened?" her father said dimly.

Rans was already on his feet, the emptied cup shoved on the desk. "She's burned her hand with the coffee?" An inner instinct had backed Lara away from him, but she was too numbed by the pain to increase the distance when Rans moved toward her. "We'd better get some cold water on it right away."

His hand was under her elbow, guiding her from the room, taking charge of the situation before Lara could protest. "It's n-not serious." Her teeth were slightly clenched from the pain. "I can take care of it myself. Really."

But he was already opening the door to the bathroom on the ground floor and escorting her inside. The cold-water faucet in the sink was turned on and her injured hand unceremoniously thrust into the water.

"Is there any salve around to put on it?" Rans inquired briskly.

He was standing so close beside her that Lara could feel the heat of his body. Disturbed by his nearness, she moved to the side of the sink, keeping her head down and her gaze on her hand beneath the running water.

"There should be some in the medicine cabinet behind the sink mirror. On the second shelf, I think." She swallowed, her heart beating like a thousand snare drums. She tried once more to reject his aid. "There's, no need for you to stay. I can take care of it."

Her statement was ignored as he opened the mirrored door above the sink. He found the tube of salve immediately, removing it from the shelf and closing the door. Lara could feel his gaze studying her and hoped her profile didn't reveal the tension that strained her poise.

"Does it feel better?" he asked after another minute had passed with cooling water running over her hand.

"Yes, it…it doesn't burn anymore." The brief shake of her head was designed to flip the hair away from her face, a self-conscious movement since her red gold hair was securely pinned in an impeccable coil.

Rans turned off the faucet and reached for the towel hanging in the ringed rack. He ignored her outstretched hand to take it from him and gently wrapped the soft towel around her other hand. Carefully he pressed the towel against injured skin to absorb the moisture.

With his attention diverted to her hand, Lara allowed herself to glance at his face. The strong lines were so aggressively masculine, sun browned and rugged. Thick and spiky lashes, not femininely long and curling like Trevor's, veiled the brown of his piercing eyes, a velvet shade to conceal the steel of his gaze. There was a hardness, to his mouth, faintly cynical and faintly ruthless. She remembered its mastery when it had taken intimate possession of hers.

The memory stirred the physical longings within her, and Lara hastily glanced away from his mouth. Instead she concentrated on the drying motion of his hands. They were large and powerful like their owner, yet capable of gentleness as well as bruising force. Her breasts tingled with the memory of the erotic caress of those hands. Lara breathed in sharply at how vividly she recalled the sensation.

Instantly his gaze narrowed on her face. "Does it still bother you?"

For a startled second, she thought he had read her mind, blushing self-consciously when she realized he was referring to the burn on her hand.

"No, it hardly hurts at all." Which was not exactly true since her hand was still uncomfortably tender. "I was thinking about something else."

His mouth quirked with amusement as Rans darted her a glittering look. "Something else that makes you gasp with pain?" he mocked, unwrapping the towel from her hand.

Lara hesitated, unwilling to answer what amounted to a leading question. "I didn't gasp." She reached for the tube of salve. "I'll put it on."

"I'll do it. It'll be faster," Rans rejected her offer, then resumed the former subject. "If it wasn't a gasp, what was it?"

His fingers began to rub the cream onto the faint pink area of her hand, his gentle touch nearly as soothing as the burn ointment. Her throat ached and Lara couldn't answer his question. The rhythmic massage of his fingers was making her weak. Finally she knew her poise would splinter if she had to endure it any longer, so she yanked her hand away.

"That's good enough. It's much better now, thank you," she said stiffly. Her eyes bounced away from the quizzical arch of his brow.

"You look a little pale. Are you sure you're all right?" he questioned.

Lara wavered. The close quarters of the bathroom would not let her get to the door without brushing past him. At this moment she needed to avoid any contact. As much as she claimed to despise him because of his cynical mockery, she was disturbingly attracted to him physically.

Rans misunderstood the reason for her silence. When her lashes fluttered in silent frustration, he reached out to steady her. Flinching from his hand, Lara took a step backward.

"Leave me alone, please." It was a breathless order.

Their eyes locked. A hard, knowing light slowly glittered in his gaze. A cold smile cruelly curved his mouth as he looked deeply into her eyes, reading the fear that she tried to conceal.

"I assure you, Mrs. Cochran, I had no intention of doing otherwise." Rans jeered cynically.

His words chilled her. Lara tried to tell herself she was glad that she didn't interest him in a physical way. That it was what she wanted to hear. She didn't want him to touch her again or hold her in his arms. She wanted to forget the incident had ever happened.

"Good," she said shortly. "I'm glad."

"Not that I didn't enjoy our little romp in the hay the other night." His husky voice laughed at the prim tilt of her chin.

"I don't wish to discuss that offensive incident." Lara broke away from his mocking gaze.

"Has your husband discovered the breach in your marble facade?" His gaze roamed over her with suggestive laziness.

"My private life is none of your business!" she retorted sharply.

Rans chuckled. "Maybe I should give him a few lessons on how to make you purr instead of spit."

"You are despicable and disgusting! If you were a gentleman, you would have the good manners not to bring up the subject!" Her eyes flashed with green sparks. "I loathe the sight of you!"

"I'm not a gentleman. And you are not a lady—" his gaze flicked down to her hands "—or your fingers wouldn't be curling, with the urge to claw my eyes out like a common alleycat. Believe me," Rans continued with a harsh grin, "the dislike is mutual. I don't think much of a woman who uses sex as weapon to bring her husband to heel. Especially when she becomes cold and bitter because the attempt backfired in her face."

Instinctively her hand swung in an arc, the palm stinging against his cheek. With his reflexes, he could have eluded her hand, but he hadn't blinked an eye. Lara faced him, trembling with the rage of her temper from his erroneous insult.

"Do you feel better?" Rans taunted softly.

"Yes!" Lara hissed.

"Then shall we call it even?"