Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby: Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby. Lilian Darcy

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      “Gen, you’re not fine. You’re pushing yourself too hard. I caused this, didn’t I? With my talk of how important it was to get in there and do the tough stuff and that stupid comment I made about letting you go … I—damn, you’d think a man like me would have already learned how easy it is to hurt someone, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry for letting it come to this.”

      “No, Lucas. Really. Please don’t apologize. Don’t think I’m fragile or that I have to be protected or treated with some sort of deference because I lack experience. I don’t want that.”

      She had scrambled closer. He still held her hand and now she placed her other hand on his chest. To stop him. To shut him up. He felt her touch right down to his core.

      “I know,” he said with the smallest of smiles. “You’re one tough lady. You’re independent,” he managed to say. “But, Gen, you’re trembling. Is it because you thought that I might fire you? I’m sorry if I scared you.”

      “No. I’m okay. If you said I could stay, then I trust that you meant it.”

      “You trust me.” Don’t trust me, he wanted to say. How many women had trusted him and regretted it when he’d failed them?

      “Yes. And I’m past that weakness I had a moment ago. I’m embarrassed about it and I’m better now. I’m strong.”

      And as she looked up at him with those big green eyes, trying so hard to show him how strong she was … she was so very close, so soft, so determined, so earnest …

      “You’re strong. I’m glad,” he said, covering her hand on his chest with his palm. The movement brought her closer and sent her fingers sliding against his skin. The sensation … he thought his heart might just pound its way out of his body. He looked at Genevieve, at those eyes, those soft pouting lips he coveted and …

      “I’m strong, too, Genevieve, but I’m afraid I’m just not strong enough to resist this,” he said, and with one tug he pulled her into his arms. His mouth covered hers and finally, finally he got to taste her. She tasted of fresh peaches and intriguing woman and something else, something he couldn’t describe. But he liked it. He wanted it. He kissed her again, nearly devoured her as he began to lose control.

      Her arm came around his waist. Her head tilted back. She returned his kiss, pleasing him. Very much. A tiny moan escaped her.

      As if the sound had awakened her and brought her back to reality, Genevieve tore her lips away from his. She brought her hand up to her mouth. Her eyes grew even bigger. Scared. “No,” she whispered. “I absolutely can’t do this.”

      Lucas recognized guilt the moment he saw it. He lived with it every day, and this moment, this day, would no doubt heap more guilt upon all that he already carried.

      “You didn’t do anything,” he said. “I did. Please don’t worry about this. Don’t even think about it. It’s all on me. I stepped well over the line. I apologize for touching you.”

      And because he was afraid that he might touch her again, scare her more, worry her more, he turned and walked away.

      The truth was that he had done everything wrong with Genevieve from the start. He had hired her when he shouldn’t have, given her too much work, not understood her situation, forced his will on her by making her move here, and now he had kissed her. His self-control had been compromised from day one.

      That was going to have to stop. From now on he needed to realize that the two of them had to work in concert. Only by succeeding at this job and standing alone would she claim that independence she craved. Only by completing this task and moving on to the next and the next could he begin to make amends for his past transgressions. When this was over, she needed to move on. He needed that, too.

      No more touching, he told himself. But he still craved another taste.

      Genevieve stared in the mirror. She touched her aching lips. Something had happened back there with Lucas.

      “A lot of somethings,” she whispered. First of all, she had seriously messed up, allowing her daydreaming ways to get in the way of doing her job well. The room was a mess and she intended to fix it.

      But more important than that was the other. Not the kiss. She wouldn’t think about the kiss. It had been too overwhelming, too wonderful, too insane, too … everything. Thinking about kissing Lucas—or worse, kissing him again—would make her crazy. As it was, her nerves were tingling. If she hadn’t somehow recalled herself, she would have been totally lost in his arms and then …

      “Then, nothing, you idiot.” Because that was what happened with Lucas. She’d been warned. Women tripped over each other trying to get to that incredible mouth of his and then he got tired of them. He moved on. Always. Always. And anyway, she did not want a man, did she?

      “No, I can’t want a man.” Certainly not Lucas.

      Yet here she was, doing what she had forbidden herself to do. Thinking about the kiss.

      So Gen forced herself to remember the other, the way Lucas, a man who exuded power and control had been so angry at the thought that he might have harmed her that he let that famous control slip. She’d seen the pain behind the mask.

      Lucas wasn’t a man without feelings, as some thought. He was a man who didn’t want to feel. He kept it bottled up. What had he said? That line about how a man like him should have learned how easy it was to hurt a woman? Apparently, he had regrets, bad memories of past relationships. He wasn’t as cold as people said he was.

      And there it was. Another brick in the wall that separated her from Lucas. Because if she fell in love with him and got hurt when he left her …

      “I’ll be a part of his pain,” she said. Like Rita. Like … Angie? Was there a real Angie?

      Don’t think about it. Don’t go there. And don’t get too close to him. It was immensely clear that any personal involvement between her and Lucas could only end up badly for both of them. Best to keep her distance.

      A full hour after he had pulled Genevieve into his arms, Lucas was still agitated. He’d removed himself from the house to the yard, had taken off his jacket and was concentrating on splitting wood for the fireplaces for the winter. But the physical activity wasn’t chasing away his irritation.

      What had he been thinking? Lucas thought, slamming the ax into the wood so hard that the two halves flew across the yard. He never got involved with his employees; he certainly never had anything to do with potentially vulnerable women. Yet he had kissed Gen, a move that was surely only going to complicate things in major ways.

      What was a man to do in such circumstances?

      “Man up,” he muttered, setting up another log and cleaving it cleanly in two. “Apologize.”

      But he’d already done that. It didn’t feel like enough. The only thing to do now was move on. Never touch her again. Stop looking at her as a woman. At all.

      Just do whatever you can to make this project move forward, make this project successful and get everything done and out of the way.

      Then he would finally feel as if he deserved some small degree of absolution. By helping a few women forge СКАЧАТЬ