The conventional Hales had thought her too uninhibited.

"More than a little."

His fathomless eyes were boring holes into her. "Yeah. More than a little."

"You should have stayed away."

"Maybe you're right," he muttered thickly. "I tried to talk myself out of coming a dozen times." But he reached for her hand, and with the last reserves of his strength, he pulled her hard against him. As his muscular body pressed into hers, she began to tremble all over again.

Anger flared in his eyes. "But then maybe you're wrong."

"Grant, please, let me go," she begged in a small voice. "It's been five years. We're strangers now."

"Whose fault is that? You ran away."

That old familiar undercurrent of electricity was flowing between them, even more strongly than ever before.

"Because I had to," she said desperately.

She felt the heat of his gaze on her mouth, and the emotion in his eyes was as hot as the night was cold. With a light finger he gently touched her red lips, traced the lush, full curve of them.

Her own eyes traveled languorously to his hard handsome face, and she felt the old forbidden hunger for his strength, for his wildness, for the feel of his powerful body on hers.

A long tremulous silence hung between them.

"It's wrong, Grant." She gasped out the first coherent words that came to mind. "So wrong."

"Maybe so, but whatever it is, it's lasted five hellish years."

"You should be out with one of your beautiful women."

"Yeah, I probably should be."

He let go of her, and she jumped free.

He fell weakly back against his seat as she started the truck.


Grant lay woozily with his head against the cold glass. No telling what he'd done to his Cadillac. No telling when he'd get to Houston to check on his apartment projects, but at the moment, he didn't much care. His right knee throbbed, and so did his chest where he'd banged it hard into the steering wheel. Every bump in the road made the pain worse, but he said nothing. He was too aware of this woman, too aware of how she still stirred him.

Tonight when he'd stepped free of his car, she'd seemed like an angel, a Christmas angel, in her white swirling clothes and gypsylike looped earrings. Funny, because he'd never really cared much for Christmas. As a child he'd thought it the loneliest season of the year. His wealthy mother had been too busy socializing to pay much attention to him or Larry, and Grant had never known his real father or even his real father's name.

The truck skidded, and Grant watched Noreen struggle with the wheel to maintain control. She was such a fragile, delicate thing. She was the kind of woman that made a man feel protective. He didn't like the idea of her driving this lonely road at night.

The fragile scent of her perfume enveloped him, tantalized him. She was as sweet as roses. And as prickly, too.

Five years. To remember. To want. To do without. And he wasn't a man used to doing without. At least not where women were concerned.

She'd thrown that up at him once.

You only want me because I belong to your brother.

Well, she'd been wrong. Larry had been dead five years, and here was Grant. He was such a fool for her, he'd come the minute he'd found out where she was.

Why? None wasn't the traffic-stopping kind of glamorous beauty Grant usually dated. But she was lovely in her own way. It wasn't her black hair, her red lips, her breasts, not her slim body-none of the things he had wanted from other women. It was her, her personality, something inside her that captivated him. Something that was quiet and powerful and completely honest.

He loved the way she liked to read quietly. The way there was always an aura of contentment around her. The way she was so gentle with children. The way she'd almost tamed Larry. Even the bright, offbeat styles she dressed in appealed to him. None didn't try to pretend to be something she wasn't.

Grant had gotten off to a bad start with her. He hadn't met her until Larry had written to their mother that he was seriously interested in her. Georgia had become hysterical. "This girl's different, Grant! Smarter! Larry's going to marry her if you don't drive up and stop him!"

"Maybe she's okay."

"No, she's a gold digger like all the others who've tried to trap him before."

It had never occurred to either Grant or his mother that Larry might be trying to stir her up and get some maternal attention.

Bad start. That was the understatement of the year. That first night in Austin had been a disaster.

Just like tonight, Grant thought coldly, suddenly furious with himself for coming. Why the hell had he bothered? She was as unfriendly as ever. He'd driven all this way, wrecked his car, and she'd hardly had a single kind thought.

"So, how long are you here for?" she asked.

"That depends on you," he replied grimly.

"There's no motel in town, and I don't feel like driving twenty-five miles to get you a room and then back again. It's nearly Christmas, but I-I can't very well put you in the stable."

He knew she didn't want him anywhere near her. But the mere thought of sleeping in the same house with her made him shiver with agonizing need.

"Cold?" she whispered.

"Thanks for the invitation," he muttered, getting a grip on himself.

She started nervously twisting knobs on the dashboard, adjusting the heater. "We'll call the wrecker in the morning."

A gust of hot air rushed across his face. His hand covered hers on the knob, and he felt her pulse quicken. "Hey, there's no reason to be so flustered. Honey, it's just one night."

She pulled her hand away and let him fix the heater.

"Right. It's just one night," she murmured, with an air of false bravado.

"I hope I'm not putting you out," he said softly. Without touching her again, he swept his gaze over her body.

The silence in the cab was breathlessly still.

"Oh, I have a spare bedroom."

"Then you live alone?"

There was another long moment's silence, and he wondered if there was a new man in her life. He thought she blushed.

"Y-yes."

She was lying. He felt it. "What a shame," he murmured, pretending to believe her.

But she didn't hear him. She was leaning on the steering wheel, turning the truck, braking in front of a locked gate.

She got out and unlocked it. The least he could do was slide across the seat and drive the truck through.

So he did. She relocked the gate and climbed back inside.

"So, do you do this often?" he demanded, the mere thought making him angry all over again.

"What?"

"Drive home alone? Get out and struggle with that damned gate in all kinds of weather?"

"As often as I have to."

"You need a man."

"So I've been told."

That rankled.

"But I don't want a man."

His taunt was silky smooth. "Then you've changed."

And that made her good and mad.

She stomped a muddy white boot to the accelerator so hard his head snapped back. A sudden blaze of pain exploded somewhere in the middle of his brain.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," she said.

But he knew she wasn't.

He rubbed his head. At least she wasn't indifferent. But then, she never had been. Neither had he. That had been the problem.

Chapter Three

So this was where None had been for five damn years. This was what she preferred to the kind of life a Hale could have given her, the kind of life he could have given her.

As she drove, Grant stared in wonder at the small farm, the falling-down picket fence, the white, two-story, frame house built on a scant rise beneath towering pecan trees. The windmill. Why had she chosen this instead of him? Instead of everything he could give her?

The house was probably eighty or ninety years old. He'd been in old houses like this one before, houses that were built so they would catch the summer breezes and the windmill would be driven. In the winter such shabby structures were too vulnerable to the cold north winds.

A screened-in porch was on either side of the building and there was a veranda across the front. A solitary yellow bulb by the front door was the only source of light. He noted the tumbledown cistern in the backyard and the large flowerbeds where she could grow flowers in spring and summer. A clothesline was strung from the corner of the house to the back gatepost. There was a small enclosed yard.

She parked the truck in front of the house. Everything seemed so bleak and cold to him-so remote. He was used to living in the middle of town, in a beautiful home, surrounded by beautiful things-antiques, carpets, tapestry, crystal.

"It's not the Hale mansion," she whispered.

Was he so obvious? "You ran from all that."

"I never belonged."

"You could have."

"No." The tortured word was torn from her throat.

For a second longer she stayed beside him, so close he could almost feel the heat of her body. Then she threw open her door and ran up to the house. He followed at a much slower pace.

He felt almost sure there was no man in her life. Even though it was dark, he saw that the grass was too high. There wasn't much firewood left. The gate latch needed fixing. He stumbled and nearly fell when the bottom two steps gave beneath his weight because the wood was rotten. A splintering pain centered in his hurt knee, and he had to stop for a second.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"Great."

She was fumbling with the key when he caught up to her.

"The lock keeps sticking."

"That's because your hands are shaking. Let me help you, Norie."

She handed him the key, dropping it into his open palm, careful not to touch him. "A lot of things are broken around here."

His knee throbbed. "I noticed."

He opened the door, and she led him inside, into an icy living room with high ceilings and tall windows. She pulled the chain of an ancient Tiffany lamp. There were wooden rocking chairs and a battered upright piano. The atmosphere was homey, but everything- the furniture, the paint, the curtains-had a faded, much-scrubbed look. There was no central heat. He saw a single gas space heater at one end of the room. It was an old-fashioned house, the type kindly grandmothers were supposed to live in.

"Like I said, it's not the Hale mansion," Norie apologized again. "But would you mind taking off your shoes?"

She was about to lean down and remove her own muddy boots, but he grabbed her arm. At his touch a sudden tremor shook her. He felt a strange pull from her, and he couldn't let her go.

"Do you really think I give a damn about your house?" His voice was rasping, unsteady. "I came to see you."

For a moment longer he held her. She didn't struggle. He almost wished she had, because he probably would have pulled her into his arms. Her expression was blank; her dark glittering eyes were enormous. He could think of nothing except how beautiful she was. Unconsciously she caught her lower lip with her teeth, and that slight nervous movement drew his gaze to her mouth.

They were alone, in the middle of nowhere. It had been five years. Five long years. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her. But he had made that mistake before- twice-the first night he'd met her, and on her wedding day.

He swallowed hard. "Thank you… for letting me stay."

He saw intense emotion in her eyes.

Although it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done, instead of drawing her closer, he released her. She leaned down and pulled her boots off. As he bent over to do the same, the shock of pain that raced from his knee up his thigh made him gasp.

"You're hurt," she said, kneeling before him. "I'll do it."

Standing, he could see nothing but the gypsy-thick waves of her dark hair glistening in the honey-gold glow of the lamp as they spilled over her delicate shoulders. Her loop earrings glittered brightly. He felt her quick, sure hands on his ankles. He caught the dizzying scent of her sensuous perfume. No other woman had such drowsy dark eyes; no other woman possessed this air of purity and enduring innocence that mingled with something so free, so giving.

He had always wanted her. From the first moment he'd seen her angel-sweet face and known the beauty of her smile.

He'd only meant to stop by and see her on his way from San Antonio to Houston, to inform her that Larry had not left her penniless. Grant had intended to take no more than an hour from his busy life. He had a big case to prepare for next week and his Houston project was a mess.

He hadn't expected all his old feelings for her to be stronger than before. It was only one night, he'd told her. One night alone together. Nothing to get flustered over. But his hands were shaking.