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Placing a hand on each of her knees, he slowly pushed them apart again.

When he lowered his face into her, her initial cry of surprise dissolved into a moan of pure animal pleasure. He wasn't timid. He wasn't shy about sliding his hands beneath her hips and tilting them up to him.

Tentatively her fingertips explored his hard length. Her thumb glanced the smooth tip. Then she turned and sought him with her lips. He groaned a rich curse when she took him into her mouth.

But even those minutes of absolute, blind sensation couldn't prepare her for the first thrust of his penis into her, nor for the tempered savagery of his strokes. No slow, warm, rippling tide of sensation, this climax.

No. It was a meteoric burst of energy and fire that was upon her suddenly, snuffing out everything else, leaving in its wake an airless, soundless, sightless void.

When she finally recovered and opened her eyes, he was standing beside the bed. His skin was dewy with perspiration, which had caused some of his chest hairs to curl. His

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face was set and tense. At his side, his fists were reflexively clenching and relaxing.

"Don't think you've changed my mind. When I get out of the shower, you'd better be gone." He turned and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Barrie closed her eyes and lay perfectly still. It was one of those times when she pretended that she was dreaming. The game was a carryover from childhood. When things became intolerable at home, when her parents' fights got out of control, she would get into her bed and shut her eyes tightly and make believe that her waking world was the nightmare, and that she would soon awaken in another world, one of enchantment, and love, and peace, a world where everything was pleasant and the people in it found joy in one another.

The trick had never worked when she was a child, and it was no different now. When she opened her eyes, she was still in the bedroom of Gray Bondurant, on his bed, and her clothing-what little she still had on-was in disarray.

As was everything else.

She gathered her wits enough to get up and dress. The water in the shower was still running when she left the bedroom. Her satchel was where she'd left it on the sofa. She picked it up, stuffed her ripped camisole into it, and went to the front door.

But there she paused. If she left now, she would have gained nothing except an embarrassment so severe that she could never have fathomed it before. There was no explanation for her behavior, so she didn't insult her conscience with any attempt to justify or rationalize.

It had happened. She had let it happen. Correction: She had actively, avariciously participated in making it happen. It was a fait accompli. She couldn't change history.

The experience had cost her dearly. All she could do now was live with the consequences of her actions, make the

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best of a disastrous situation, and hope to recapture at least a shred of her dignity. In the process, maybe she could learn something from having come here.

When he entered the kitchen ten minutes later, she was waiting for him, her back to the countertop, on the defensive. "Just for the record, Mr.

Bondurant, I don't know what happened in there."

"Just for the record, Miss Travis, I do." Casually, he took a mug from the cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot she had taken upon herself to brew. "Get out your notepad. You might want to write this down." Then he turned to her. "It's called `fucking.' "

Inwardly she flinched; outwardly she kept a stiff upper lip. "You're hoping that if you're horrible enough, I'll leave. It won't work."

"What will?"

"Talk to me."

"No way in hell," he said angrily. "Part of the reason I left Washington was to get away from reporters. Most of you would sell your souls for a story. And if there isn't a story, you make one up." He gave her a derisive once-over. "Although you're in a league of your own, Miss Travis. You didn't even sell anything, you gave it away."

She nodded beyond him toward the bedroom. "That was an . . . accident."

"I don't think so. My cock knew exactly where it was going."

Barrie rolled her lips inward to keep from saying anything. She was also trying to keep from crying, which she had sworn she would not do. "Please, Mr. Bondurant, I'm trying to salvage what's left of my professional integrity."

"I didn't know you had any."

Spreading her arms at her sides, she asked, "Do I look like I came to your house with seduction in mind?"

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He took in her dishabille. "Not particularly. But when the situation presented itself, I didn't hear any objections from your side of the bed."

She felt her face color at the memory of the sounds he had heard from her side of the bed. "I came here only to ask you a few questions about the Merritts."

"How many times do I have to say it? I'm not telling you a damn thing."

"Not even that the tabloid stories are lies?"

"They are."

"You didn't have an affair with Vanessa Merritt?"

"None of your goddamn business."

"Was it you who made her so unhappy?"

"If she's unhappy, it might be because her kid just died."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?"

"Are you sure he died? Or was Robert Rushton Merritt murdered?"

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ray turned his back on her, silently swearing. This one went for the jugular. She interviewed with as much ferocity as she screwed.

Even before waking her, he'd recognized her as the reporter who had interviewed Vanessa several weeks ago. Apparently she hadn't gotten all she wanted from that interview. He'd been halfway expecting her, or someone of her ilk, to show up and start dredging him through the shit again. For weeks he'd been stockpiling his resentment against the imminent intrusion.

So he felt no guilt whatsoever over what had happened. He'd been surly and in need of getting laid. She'd been consensual-and that was putting it mildly. Set a stage like that, and naturally something's going to happen.

Actually, he doubted that seduction had been her original plan. Her long skirt, sweater, and boots were not designed to inspire sexual fantasies.

Her eyes were still puffy from sleep, and her mascara had flaked off onto her cheekbones. Her lipstick had worn off long ago, and her hair was a mess.

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Her voice, however, was incredible. Her voice was a wet dream. It didn't just promise unbelievable sex, it delivered.

But if she thought a good roll in the hay was going to weaken his position, she couldn't be more wrong. He now resented her invasion of his home and his privacy even more than he had before. She had earned his scorn.

Draining his coffee cup, he reached for a skillet and a saucepan and set them on the stove. He took a can of chili from the pantry, opened it, and dumped the contents into the saucepan, then began cracking eggs into a bowl. After beating them to a froth, he poured himself another cup of coffee and sipped it while the chili simmered.

"May I?" She held up an empty mug.

"Go ahead. You made it. I don't want to be responsible for you falling asleep at the wheel when you leave."

He noticed that she cradled the large mug between two very small hands.

Feeling his gaze, she looked up at him. "I apologize for slapping you. I've never struck anyone in my life. You're a very provoking individual, Mr.

Bondurant."

"So I've been told." He stirred the chili. "How'd you find me?"

"Mostly through sources in D.C. Don't worry. I was discreet."

"I never worry, Miss Travis. It is Miss? Or have you just committed adultery?"

That remark, more than the deed itself or any previous insults, set her off. Her eyes sparkled with anger. "No, I haven't committed adultery. I defer to your far greater experience on that subject. And Barrie will be fine, thank you."

Gray turned back to the stove, dropped a teaspoon of butter into the skillet, and turned on the burner beneath it. As he watched the butter melt, he considered how to get rid of her without bodily throwing her out.

With very little cerebral effort, he could list a dozen ways to kill a man silently,

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instantly, and painlessly. But the thought of physically hurting a woman made him queasy.

"You have a beautiful place," she remarked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"Thanks."

"How many acres?"

"Fifty, give or take."

"You're here alone?"

"Until this morning."

"I'm sure you know that there's a town named Bondurant not too far from here. Is that-"

"No. That's a coincidence."

"Do you keep livestock? Other than the horses in the corral."

"I've got a small herd of beef cattle."

"So that's where all the meat in your freezer came from."

Gray turned and looked at her pointedly.

"I got a drink of water and borrowed a few ice cubes," she said, setting her chin defiantly.

"What else did you find while you were snooping around?"

"I wasn't snooping."

He turned back to the stove, spread the melted butter around the bottom of the skillet, then poured in the eggs. He fed two slices of bread into a toaster, took a plate from the cabinet, then scrambled the eggs with a spatula until they were to his liking. He scraped them into the center of the plate. Over the eggs he ladled the bubbling chili, then topped it off with a liberal sprinkling of Tabasco. The toast popped up as though on cue.

He added both slices to the plate, along with a fork, and carried it to the table and sat down, straddling the seat of his chair.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her approach.

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She sat down across from him. Ignoring her, he shoveled several bites into his mouth. Not until he paused to take a drink of coffee did he ask,

"Hungry?"

"Sort of."

"Want some?"

She looked dubiously at his plate. "I'm not sure."

He shrugged. "It's on the stove."

She left the table and returned a few moments later with a smaller portion of his breakfast. He watched her take a tentative bite. She chewed, swallowed, then began to eat heartily.

"This is a remote area," she remarked between bites. "Don't you get lonely?"

"No."

"Bored'?"

"Never."

"Before your, uh, retirement, you led a very adventurous life. Don't you miss the excitement of Washington?"

"If I did, I'd go back."

"How do you pass the time?"

"Any damn way I please."

"How do you earn a living?"

"It's rude to discuss finances."

"Well then, we're safe, because you've already established that reporters are rude." She raised her brows inquisitively.

"I ranch."

The simple answer seemed to surprise her. "Cattle?" He nodded. "Really?

Hmm. You know how to do that?"

"I learned as a kid."

"Where?"

"On my dad's place."

"That doesn't tell me much."

"That's the idea, Miss Travis."

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ble in covert military operations, and you've been a presidential adviser.

There's definitely no excitement factor to cattle ranching. It's hard for me to accept that you find this new career stimulating and challenging." "I don't care what you accept."

"You just stay out here and ride horses all day?"

He didn't bother to answer that one.

"You just tend your cattle like a good little cowpuncher?"

"Yeah. When they need tending."

"Is that where you were yesterday? Out tending your cattle?"

"No. Yesterday I went to Jackson Hole."

"I came from there. We must have passed each other on the road." She pushed her empty plate aside. "Breakfast was good. Thanks."

He laughed. "If it had been a cow patty, you'd've eaten it and said it was delicious."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you want something from me. Since sex didn't get it for you, you thought you'd try being friendly. Isn't all this chitchat just another attempt to disarm me? Frankly, Miss Travis, I enjoyed your first approach better."

"It wasn't an approach. I told you, it was-"

"An accident. Tell me, do you hop into bed with every man you meet?"

"Listen='

"Didn't your daddy love you?"

She dropped her gaze to the tabletop, then almost immediately brought it back up to him. "I guess I can't blame you for forming such a low opinion of me."

"Ah, now we move from pal to penitent."

"Damn you," she shouted, smacking the tabletop hard as she came to her feet. "I'm being honest."

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He too stood up. "No, Miss Travis, you're either being brave or stupid. I can't figure out which. But either way, I'm not going to talk to you about myself or the Merritts. And I'm not interested in anything you have to say about them, either."

"Didn't you hear what I said earlier about the death of their baby?" "I heard it. I ignored it. I'll continue to." He stacked her plate on top if his, then carried both to the sink and ran water over them.

"Why are you ignoring it?"

"Because it's the kind of comment you reporters throw out, hoping that some sucker will bite."

"Do you think I'd make such a serious statement just for the hell of it?"

He turned off the water and faced her. "Yeah. In the short time that we've known each other, I have reason to think that you'd do just about anything to get a gig on 20/20. Instead of messing with me, why don't you sleep with a network producer?"

"Because none of the network producers I know were Vanessa Merritt's lover."

His surge of rage frightened him. Before he could act on it, he sidestepped her and headed to the back of the house. He could hear her coming after him. She moved so fast that suddenly she was in front of him, her hands on the center of his chest.