Uncommon Passion Page 4

  Rachel. Something about her, what happened, tapped away at his brain with about as much subtlety as the hammer.

  Squinting against the bright light, he snagged a bottle of cold water from the fridge, then swallowed four aspirin, started the shower, and brushed his teeth in the dark. The toothpaste cut through the thick fur lining his mouth, and as long as he didn’t move his head too quickly, the water and aspirin were cutting in, opening space for memories of the night to surface.

  He wasn’t usually that out of step with a woman, but then again, Rachel wasn’t like most of the women he saw. He knew female cops. He talked to the women at No Limits, and sometimes he fucked them. Rachel was neither cop nor No Limits girl. The expression on her face after he told her the story about the bum startled him, like she was thinking through all the angles and consequences for everyone, the clerk, the bum. Him.

  Good thing you didn’t tell her about what happened earlier.

  Steam filled the bathroom as he bent over to rinse and spit. When he straightened, a darker stain on his shaft caught his attention. He blinked, but it didn’t go away, so he turned on the light.

  Dried blood ringed the base of his cock.

  “What the fuck?” he said to himself, and strode back into the bedroom to peer into the trash can. Blood smeared down the side of the white bag lining the can where the condom dragged along the plastic. “Jesus Christ.”

  He’d woken up smeared with girl-juices and lube, with chocolate syrup and cherries. He’d woken up tangled up with one woman, two women, one girl and another guy. He’d woken up hungover, still drunk, battered and bruised with two broken ribs after a bar fight, and on one memorable occasion, when he’d fallen down a cement stairwell, drunk as fuck and trying to get some in a parking garage, he’d woken up in the ER getting stitches.

  He’d never woken up to a woman’s blood on his body.

  He dredged his memory, searching for clues. He’d been a little fast, a little rough, but he’d done nothing, nothing, to make her bleed. She’d seemed unhurt, so . . . had she started her period? That would explain the hasty exit. Except . . . it didn’t fit.

  Except . . . there was another reason for a woman to bleed during sex. By the time he toweled off and dressed in jeans, boots, and a snap-front shirt, he’d decided to spend his day off driving out to Silent Circle Farm.

  Probably she’d started her period.

  Probably wasn’t enough.

  He braked hard in the same No Parking space because it was closest to the barn, and apparently karma wasn’t going to fuck with him today, because Rachel emerged from the shade of the farm stand as he stepped out of the truck. Some dim part of his brain noticed that she looked like she had at the auction, jeans clinging to her ass, the neck of her thin green T-shirt dipping low, her hair held back from her face in two thick braids, like the woman from last night didn’t exist.

  Her eyes widened when he strode toward her. She didn’t look happy to see him. He read faces for a living, so he knew.

  “You still can’t—” she started.

  He cut her off by slamming the truck door. They met in the dusty space between the stand and his truck. “What the fuck?”

  Her shoulders straightened. “Excuse me?” she said tartly.

  “What happened last night?”

  “You know what happened,” she said.

  He peered down at her through his aviator shades, knowing the sunlight winked off the mirrored glass. “I found blood this morning, Rachel,” he said, but he wasn’t going to offer her the easy out. He wanted to hear the truth from her. “I’ve been at this a long time, and I’ve never made a woman bleed before.”

  At that she looked away from him, then turned as if she was going to walk away. He knew. Was this who he’d become, a man who didn’t notice a virgin in his bed?

  He grabbed her upper arm, but dropped his hold as soon as she stopped moving. He took a deep breath, dug his fingers into his hipbones as he stared down at her. “Talk to me.”

  She looked around the parking lot, then said in a lowered voice, “I was a virgin. I didn’t think you’d be able to tell. Most women don’t bleed. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

  She turned to walk away, and he grabbed her arm again, because the implications stung like rubber bullets. “Wait a goddamned minute. You were a virgin and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I don’t want to discuss this here,” she said, glancing around the parking lot again.

  “We’re discussing it here,” he said. “How virgin?”

  “There are degrees of virginity?”

  Well, yeah. A friend of his dated a girl who wanted to be a virgin on her wedding night but went wild for anal and could suck the leather off a baseball. The look in Rachel’s eyes answered his question and kicked his brain into high gear.

  Pure virgin.

  And he stripped her, spread her legs, and fucked her. If he’d known, if he’d had any idea, he would have gone about things more gently.

  Liar. If you’d known you would have sent her home right then and there. Then you would have texted someone who wouldn’t leave a trace in your apartment, let alone on your body.

  Who was a virgin at her age? He’d lost his at fifteen to a friend’s older sister. Fifteen years ago. At least he could still remember her name. Sharlene. And why would a woman who’d stayed a virgin as long as—

  Oh, sweet Jesus. “How old are you?”

  Her chin lifted. “Twenty-five.”

  Relief nearly buckled his knees. But . . . why would a woman in her midtwenties bid on a bachelor at an auction to lose her virginity?

  Fuck why. He didn’t do why. The right thing to do, the logical, sensible thing to do was to put her behind him and go on with his life. Such as it was. She looked at him, those odd, whiskey-colored eyes so disorienting, and while he didn’t look away, he dropped back into his head. He’d learned the trick a long time ago on his father’s ranch, seeming to be present, interacting, even thinking, when he really wasn’t there. Going through the motions.

  Possible outcomes and consequences danced a crack-the-whip in his head. While he would have stopped if she’d changed her mind, some guys didn’t. Some guys would have been even more oblivious than he’d been, made her do things she clearly wasn’t ready to do. She could have been hurt, physically, emotionally. She could still be hurt, if she didn’t learn what this was all about. “What the fuck were you thinking, auctioning your virginity to a total stranger?”

  “Technically speaking, I wasn’t auctioning my virginity to you. I was buying your experience.”

  Memories of yeah, I go that far echoed in his head. He looked aside, shook his head. “It was stupid, not to mention dangerous.”

  Usually people backed up when he talked like that. She met his gaze head-on. “It was mine to do with as I pleased.”

  He wasn’t going to argue with that, not when she used that razor-sharp tone of voice, but still. He lashed down his temper. “You didn’t think I should know.”

  “I didn’t think you would know. Or care,” she added, as if now was the time for brutal honesty. Maybe she’d seen more than he thought.

  A tasty, dark cocktail of inexperienced virgin and his anger over being set up sizzled in his veins. He studied her, well aware of his physical response, not sure if he should act on it or not.

  The fuck you’re not sure.

  In his peripheral vision he saw a man standing in the open door of the barn, a border collie at his side. Ben recognized him from the auction as the Silent Circle’s owner. He gave him a short nod, then said, “I want another shot at it.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “Did you really just say that to me?” she said tartly.

  “After last night you’re going to have a hard time convincing me you’re after sweet talk and roses,” he said. Her gaze
narrowed, but he didn’t think he’d insulted her. More like hit the nail on the head. “That’s good, because I don’t do sweet talk and roses. What I do is what you need.”

  “I am not your responsibility.”

  The concept of anyone being his responsibility was laughable, but the words echoed in his brain. It took a moment, then he remembered. Sam said the same thing to him the summer they turned sixteen. He flashed her the smile, the only one he had left, and said, “Damn straight you’re not.”

  She bristled at his smile, the one various girls called annoying, shit-eating, cocky, arrogant, and asshat. “You don’t know what I need,” she said as she glanced toward the barn. The dog and the man were making their way up the dirt path toward the parking lot.

  “I remember,” he said without lowering his voice, “how you were shaking under me at the end. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t need more.”

  She went still again, stiller than he thought possible. The man, Rob Strong, was almost within earshot, and based on Rachel’s tense posture, she didn’t want to have this conversation with him around.

  He lowered his voice just a little. “I want an explanation. You want to do it again. Longer. Slower. Hotter. This time we’ll both get what we want.”

  Her face flushed. He paused, because Rob and the all-business border collie were within earshot, but the implication was there. He did owe her, and while she might be willing to let him off the hook, he wasn’t.

  “Officer Harris,” Rob said, but he wasn’t asking. He offered his hand, and Ben shook it. Ben ignored him until the dog looked up at him, then held out his fist for inspection. Tail drooping, the dog sniffed his hand. “Is there a problem?”

  Rachel watched the collie with a small smile on her face, and when the dog turned to her, she got an enthusiastic tail wag and even a little jump. “Hey, George.” She crouched to ruffle the fur behind his ears. “Everything’s fine, Rob,” she said then looked up at Ben. “So I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

  “Great,” Ben said without missing a beat.

  “I can’t leave until seven, after milking, and I can’t go far. The does are getting close to their due dates.”

  Rob and George watched this interchange, and Ben didn’t want to stick around to argue.

  “I’ll pick you up,” he said. “I know a place we can go that’s close.”

  Chapter Four

  “Off you go, Irene.”

  Rachel gently patted the pregnant goat’s side, then released the stanchion holding Irene in the milking stand, where she’d trimmed her hooves. The goat trotted off the stand and out into the goat yard, giving Rachel a shake of her tail before rejoining the herd. Rachel collected her tools and headed for the barn, taking care to securely latch the fence leading into and out of the goat yard. Rob named the predominantly female goat herd after devastating hurricanes for good reason. One improperly latched gate or gap in the fence meant hours tracking down and reclaiming loose goats, although the neighbors usually knew whom to call by the ear tattoos. Irene, however, was known by sight all over the county.

  Rachel wandered through a medley of spring on her way to the barn, birds chirping as they mated and built nests in the cottonwoods, the scent of sweet, dry hay rising into the sun-warmed air, the rich, not unpleasant aroma of manure worked into the various fields. While she loved the clear spring sunrises and the booming, elemental thunderstorms rolling across the plains, she wanted to be able to walk to a coffee shop, work a regular schedule, travel. Never again would she be isolated, alone, dependent on someone else, an older woman or a man of any age, for her living.

  Ben Harris seemed as intent on teaching her as she was on learning.

  Inside the barn’s cold room she replaced the trimming shears in the equipment room, then began the process of rinsing and washing the dairy equipment, left over from the morning milking. Rob hoped the yogurts and cheeses produced by the herd of goats would become a cornerstone to his growing business, so they carefully monitored the milk for taste and quality. She’d done much the same thing at Elysian Fields, which ran a similar co-op between the families living on the property. Her father coordinated the care and production from the co-op’s goat herds, although the women and girls in the various families did most of the day-to-day work. But it would be too easy to fall into routine here, and the price she’d paid to leave home was too high to settle for anything less than what she’d set out to find.

  “How much did we get this morning?”

  She looked up from the hot, soapy water to find Rob standing in the doorway, laptop in hand.

  “A little less than yesterday,” she said.

  “Hmmm,” he said absently.

  His shaggy hair blended into the hay spilling from the loft overhead, but his hazel eyes stood out even in his suntanned face. They were the eyes of a man much, much older, projecting a calm self-assurance she found familiar. While he had every right to be in and out of every barn, pen, and field on the farm, Rachel suspected Rob showing up here and now had more to do with their unexpected visitor than the goat herd’s milk production.

  Ben was the last person she had expected to see late Monday morning, but a Ben prowling with tightly leashed energy shocked her. He wasn’t supposed to be there, demanding to know what happened, demanding a second chance. He was supposed to be a player, not interested in a solemn, shy woman who was by most standards little more than plain. But the emotions crashing over her from the moment he slammed the door to his truck swept her away.

  “I mailed your letter,” Rob said.

  “Thanks,” she replied.

  “Submit your app yet?”

  “No.”

  “When’s the deadline?”

  “A couple of weeks,” she hedged. “I’m still not sure my science classes are up to the school’s standards.”

  “What did the admissions counselor say?”

  “They make decisions on a case-by-case basis, and I could always take summer classes.”

  Rob smiled at her, so easy and assured. “So you apply and see what happens. That was your date from the auction, right?”

  She nodded.

  “How did things go?”

  She couldn’t think about last night in front of Rob, so instead she thought about Ben’s heat and energy radiating at her like the Texas sun in August, the tense, clipped phrases, the emotion humming from him, the intensity under those watchful eyes. The little zing that zipped through her when he identified exactly what she wanted. “Fine,” she said.

  “Did he treat you right, Rachel?”

  Rob had an old-fashioned sense of honor. She thought about how best to answer that question before saying, “He was a perfect gentleman. You should up the ration of concentrate. They’ll need more nutrition as they get closer to kidding.”

  Rob closed the laptop’s lid, then smiled at her, a crooked, understanding smile that respected her privacy and her boundaries. But Ben didn’t. He’d smashed through her boundaries as effectively as he’d held her off at the auction. She didn’t buy that she owed him an explanation. What made her agree to his demand for a second chance was Rob walking out of the barn. Her single encounter with Ben gave breadth and depth to her inexperience, something she’d naïvely assumed would disappear once she had sex. She’d have to explain that to the next man, and the next man would be like Rob, caring, compassionate, making a big deal out of her background and her inexperience.

  Ben knew. Knew what she needed, and wanted her to have a better time.

  “Hey, George,” she said as she rinsed the last piece of tubing and laid it in the drainer to dry. The dog trotted into the room and leaned against her calf, peering up at her as she emptied the sink. “Okay, I’ll pet you.”

  She crooned nonsense words at him while scratching the soft fur behind his ears. After a moment he nuzzled int
o her hand, then took himself to a spot where he could keep an eye on both Rob and the activity in the parking lot out the big, wide-open barn doors, and sat down to wait.

  “He won’t usually sit still for petting,” she said.

  “Maybe he thought you needed it,” Rob said with a smile. “I was pretty surprised when you bought one of the men from the auction. Are you ready to date—”

  “Oh, I’m not dating him,” she said, cutting him off.

  Rob lifted one eyebrow. “You’re seeing him again tomorrow night.”

  “It’s not a date. It’s . . .” She cast around for a reasonable explanation for a man like Ben to drive thirty minutes out of town then ask her out again, one that didn’t include a second shot at sex, and came up blank.

  Silence stretched between them. “When you’re ready to date, let me know,” he said, giving her a slow smile completely unlike Ben’s slashing, seductive grin, yet no less potent. Heat flooded her cheeks and danced low in her belly. He was handsome, gentle, kind. Good with animals. Everything she was supposed to need and want, and yet he saw a fragile girl. Ben saw . . . what? “I like that we’re friends,” she said. “I need friends.”

  When she left Elysian Fields she hadn’t left just her father, but an entire extended community of friends, prayer partners, accountability partners. Women she liked, even loved, and respected. She’d gotten exactly what she asked for: independence. But independence was terribly lonely sometimes.

  Disappointment flashed momentarily in Rob’s eyes, then was replaced with his usual good humor. “I thought I’d head up to the stand and help get ready for the evening rush,” she said.

  “Good plan.” He snapped his fingers for George and took himself off into the fields, while Rachel walked up the hill. A week ago, she’d had no men in her life. Now she had one man who made her feel alive, and another who made her feel safe.

  You’ve chosen to live. No more fear. No going back, not until you know why you should.

  And no more deception. No more fancy dresses or sultry eye makeup or even lipstick. Tomorrow night she would go out with Ben Harris as herself, nothing more, nothing less, and explain herself to him.