Luke’s first impulse was to get out of the cabin. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Acknowledgements Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Epilogue Copyright

Luke’s first impulse was to get out of the cabin.

His upbringing had been rough, and he’d never held relationships in high esteem. Now he faced a bigger emotional upheaval in the form of one small, curvy woman.

Miranda shook him to his core, rocking beliefs he’d held for a lifetime, because her innocence was real. She understood what honor was and that once the code was broken you could never go back.

His gaze landed on the wrought-iron bedstead in the corner of the room. The desire that had been his constant companion since their embrace the other night hit him hard. Hell, who was he kidding? He’d wanted her ever since he’d seen her.

Dear Reader,

This month, Silhouette Desire is celebrating milestones, miniseries—and, of course, sensual, emotional and compelling love stories. Every book is a treasured keeper in Lass Small’s miniseries THE KEEPERS OF TEXAS, but this month, the continuation of this wonderful series about the Keeper family marks a milestone for Lass—the publication of her 50th book for Silhouette with The Lone Texan, also our MAN OF THE MONTH selection!

Desire is also proud to present the launch of two brand-new miniseries. First, let us introduce you to THE RULEBREAKERS, Leanne Banks’s fabulous new series about three strong and sexy heroes. Book one is Millionaire Dad—and it’s a story you won’t want to miss. Next, meet the first of a few good men and women in uniform in the passion-filled new series BACHELOR BATTALION, by Maureen Child. The first installment, The Littlest Marine, will utterly delight you.

Continuing this month is the next book in Peggy Moreland’s series TEXAS BRIDES about the captivating McCloud sisters, A Sparkle in the Cowboy’s Eyes. And rounding out the month are two wonderful novels—Miranda’s Outlaw by Katherine Garbera, and The Texas Ranger and the Tempting Twin by Pamela Ingrahm.

I hope you enjoy all six of Silhouette Desire’s love stories this month—and every month.

Regards,

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor Silhouette Books

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Miranda’s Outlaw

Katherine Garbera

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHERINE GARBERA

Interpersonal relationships have always fascinated Katherine Garbera, and writing romance gives her a chance to explore those relationships. She wrote her first novel to prove to herself she could do it, and was hooked on writing. A longtime reader of romance, she is addicted to happy endings. Her personal life has been like a romance novel. She met her husband, Matt, in Fantasyland at Walt Disney World and has two wonderful children, Courtney and Lucas. Katherine is a member of Romance Writers of America, and is the past winner of the Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award. Her hobbies include reading, shopping, playing the flute and counted cross-stitch. She’s always believed that everything she dreams she can do. In a world so technologically advanced, Katherine believes we need more romance in our daily lives and hopes to create that with her novels. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at: P.O. Box 1806, Davenport, FL 33836.

To Charlotte and David Smith, my mom and dad, who

raised me to believe that I could do anything I put my

mind to and then encouraged and supported me when I

tried things that were beyond my skills. Without your

guidance and love I don’t think I’d be who I am today.

Thank you.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Tanja Lammers, who took time out of

her busy schedule to proofread my manuscript and check

it for a North Carolina feeling.

Also my appreciation to Sandra Diaz, USAFR,

Aeromedical Evacuation Technician, who answered my

endless questions on medical procedures and told me the

way things really worked when I said “What if...?”

And lastly, thanks to my dear friend Carol Quinto, who

encouraged me to keep writing after that first rejection

letter and gave selflessly of her knowledge when I had

no answers and too many questions. Your laughter,

friendship and warm generosity will be with me forever.

One

Miranda Colby coaxed her Mercedes off the road, knowing the valiant little car wouldn’t go another inch.

The rough mountain trail looked like an ad for Adventurers magazine. Potholes and muddy patches lined the road like stains on a wedding-ring quilt, making what had once probably been a passable road into a quagmire.

She knew the cabin had to be close by. Determined to reach its shelter before the storm broke, she stepped out of the car and felt the world sink.

Clutching the roof of her car, she pried her left foot out of the muck. She balanced herself on a patch of grass and pulled her right foot out of the mud. The mate to her nowugly shoe hadn’t made the journey.

Miranda bit back a sigh of disgust, rummaging around in the back seat of the car until she found her worn canvas boat shoes. As she slid them on, she glanced at the sky.

Ominous black clouds threatened, and a roll of thunder echoed through the valley. A chance to learn how to survive in the “real” world was what she needed.

But even a city girl could tell the display would turn into a full-fledged downpour with very little urging. Grabbing the groceries and her purse, she locked the doors to her car.

The directions from the rental agent had been vague, but she knew that her cabin was located near the summit of this mountain. With that in mind, she forged ahead until she reached a dirt path.

The late-afternoon wind whipped through the trees. Miranda held the sack of groceries a bit tighter to her chest and quickened her pace. A few more minutes, then she’d be at the rental cabin. She promised herself a long, hot bath, a cup of steaming Earl Grey tea and a whole bag of Oroes.

Reaching a crossroads on the path, she froze. The sound of a man’s voice singing a ballad about lost love carried clearly in the mountain air. The haunting melody and achingly sad words touched a part of her she’d locked away long ago. Surprised for a moment, she listened to the rich baritone that drifted with the wind through the trees.

Where was he? she wondered. Her rental agent had promised seclusion, and civilization was several miles away. Whoever the man was, he’d have to be singing pretty loudly for her to hear him unless...

She was lost.

Miranda groaned out loud.

She rounded a curve in the lane and stopped as a two-story glass-and-cedar structure loomed into view. It fit the landscape perfectly, blending with nature to make the house appear almost as if it were part of the mountain.

The singing stopped, followed by a loud splash. She followed the sounds around to the back of the house. Miranda scanned the shadowed area on the rear porch. A mountain of white frothy bubbles covered the entire surface of an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. The foamy spray beckoned her weary body closer and Miranda fought the urge to strip off her clothes and dive into the inviting water. Of course, she’d never do such a thing.

She shivered again as the breeze kicked up. She took an involuntary step closer. Now she could see the steam rising from the tub, and it looked appealing in the chilly weather. A warm oasis, she thought.

Miranda sighed. It had been a grueling week at the office—the end of tax season always left her exhausted—but this year it was more than just the work. She was tirad, tired of her friends, tired of her life-style, tired of seeing her ex-fiancé and his new family everywhere she went.

She’d poured her life into her career, awakening one morning to find that something was missing. She’d handed in her resignation, but Mark didn’t believe her. He’d told her to take a leave of absence, and he’d hold her job for her. The offer was flattering, but she’d warned him she might not come back. Mark had only laughed. He said she belonged in high-level finance. She was too bright and too competitive to stay away for long.

Was she? Miranda had her doubts. Right now she wanted only peace and quiet. Right now she’d settle for climbing in that steaming tub, and soaking away the aches in her body and soul—but she doubted if Mountain Lake Lodge’s hospitality extended to a steam bath in an old-fashioned tub.

The setting sun fought through the gathering storm clouds to cast long shadows on the grass and wildflowers that blanketed the lawn. She stood at the back of some stranger’s cabin and knew she’d followed the wrong directions. Murphy’s Law strikes again, she thought wryly.

As Miranda watched, the bubbles parted and a head and torso emerged amid a spray of steam and foam. She stared at the strongly muscled back. An intricately drawn tattoo of a bind—some kind of hawk, she thought—glistened on one shoulder as the man continued to emerge from the heated water. The complex design made the predatory bird seem real. She felt its intense gaze on her almost as if the bird stared at her. Her fingers tingled with the need to trace the hawk and the male flesh beneath it.

She cleared her throat hoping to catch the man’s attention, but the sound died before it reached her lips.

The man shook his head flinging soap and water everywhere. He stretched his arms toward the sky, an outward reaching as if he were welcoming the coming storm. Miranda felt more of an intruder than ever.

He tilted his head back and let out a loud rebel yell. The kind that men had issued for ages when they were staking a claim or acknowledging the primal male buried inside the more civilized one.

Long midnight-colored strands of hair brushed the top of his shoulders. He combed through the wet locks with his fingers, revealing a diamond stud earring in one lobe.

A battered Stetson sat next to the tub along with a lit cigar. The surrounding wood deck was bare except for those items and a small pile of clothing. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. Smoke drifted upward in a lazy spiral, merging with the clouds of steam. The Hawk, for that was how she thought of him, picked up the hat and settled it low on his forehead as he leaned back against the foot of the tub.

She’d never seen a person more at home in the outdoor environment. She couldn’t picture herself sitting outside in broad daylight—naked. Apparently this man had very little modesty and more ease with his own nudity than she did.

Miranda tried again to say something, to alert him to her presence, but she was too fascinated by the sight of him. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, sure that she imageined the man, the bath and the bird. He was still there when she opened her eyes.

He lifted the smoking cigar and took a long drag on it. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of the tobacco. Definitely a real person—the acrid smell couldn’t be part of anyone’s imagination.

Before she could move he began singing again, but this tune hardly resembled the haunting song she’d heard earlier. The words were embarrassing and colorfully blunt.

A blush heated her face, and, despite the situation, she smiled. For years she’d accepted what passed as sophisticated boardroom humor among her male colleagues. She’d never found their sexual innuendoes embarrassing—just annoying. But this man, the Hawk, with his very crudeness, his earthiness, stirred deep feelings within her and shook her to her mud-splattered toes.

Too embarrassed to stay and ask directions, Miranda decided that she’d take her chances with the approaching storm. She pivoted on her heel, prepared to leave without alerting the man to her presence. A small rock caught under her shoe and rolled. Her feet slid out from under her as the bag of groceries went flying. Miranda let out an inelegant shriek. Her backside hit the hard ground. The Hawk rose from the tub.

“Stop!” she yelled, and covered her face with her hands on the off chance that he didn’t heed her warning. She didn’t want to deal with all that naked masculinity. A three-piece suit she could handle, but not this.

“You okay, darlin’?” he asked from the porch. That lazy, deep voice brushed across her senses like the spring breezes across winter’s icy embrace, releasing a flood of longings that she thought she’d buried.

She said nothing, only pulled her knees to her chest and hid her face against them. She felt the need to cry, to laugh, to rail against a merciless God who would send her to the one person she couldn’t ask for help. A man who spoke with a deep Texan drawl and probably knew these mountains like the back of his hand. A man who made her thoughts scatter like leaves in a windstorm. A man, she thought as she heard him approach, who was standing next to her, naked and dripping wet. She sighed, biting back the hysterical laughter that she felt bubbling up in her stomach.

A large, rough hand touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Keeping her face covered, Miranda said, “No—I mean yes. Yes, I’m fine.” She wanted to stand but couldn’t unless she uncovered her face. “Are you decent?”

“I’ve got clothes on,” he said with a deep, rich chuckle that filled the meadow with its sound. Cautiously she peered through her fingers, grateful that he now wore the jeans that had been a dark puddle on the wooden porch only moments before. She sighed in relief.

His bare chest was still wet and small droplets of water clung to the matted hair. A longing welled up inside of her to touch his damp chest. She knew she was staring but somehow couldn’t stop. Miranda shook herself out of the trance this man seemed to have cast over her. She wasn’t a woman ruled by impulses, especially irrational ones, she reminded herself.

Reaching down to clasp her arm above the elbow, he hauled her to her feet. “What are you doing on my property?”

“I’m lost.”

She stared into eyes the color of chocolate. Despite the grin on his face, his expression wasn’t welcoming and warm, but filled instead with a desolation that her soul recognized. Part of her wanted to reach out to someone whose wounds were as deep as hers, but common sense told her to keep her distance. How could this tall, lean mountain man have anything in common with her?

He stared at her for so long that Miranda was afraid she’d ripped her clothing in the fall or rubbed dirt on her face during the long trek to his cabin. She brushed her hand across her cheeks and nose before trying to tame her wild mane into something that looked normal, less like a Halloween wig.

“Oh, darlin’, I think I’m the one lost”

His gentle smile and playful wink caught her off guard. The words dripped over her like honey on a warm biscuit. Tempting, sweet promises she’d regret believing later.

Despite her predicament, she smiled at him before realizing what she was doing. Country charm beat city sophistication any day. She shrugged the thought aside and gathered her senses as best she could.

“I’ve rented a cabin near here from the Mountain Lake Lodge. Can you direct me to it?” Her gourmet groceries were scattered across the lawn looking as out of place as she felt. Miranda gathered them quickly. The paper sack torn beyond repair, she glanced around helplessly.

“I’ll go one better and take you there.” He walked back to the porch. His long-legged stride captured her attention. She stared against her better judgment as he sat down on the wood deck. Sticking his cigar in his mouth, he pulled on battered cowboy boots. “I’ve got some extra brown bags. I’ll get one for you.”

Miranda watched him disappear inside the cabin. He looked as though he’d be more at home riding the range than in the mountains of North Carolina. Still he seemed to fit in here as if he were sure of the environment and his place in it

“Where’s your car?” he asked when he came back with the bags. A faded denim shirt now covered the tattoo, but allowed her to glimpse the muscles of his chest as he bent and picked up a few of the scattered items on the ground.

She wondered what his hard flesh would feel like beneath her fingers or pressed against her breasts. Get a grip, Miranda. He’s a stranger.

“Down the hill. I didn’t realize the incline would be so steep.” She glanced quickly at her groceries trying to ascertain that nothing embarrassing had been in the bag.

“I’ll take you back to get the car first.” He passed a box of chocolate-covered biscotti and gourmet espresso beans to her.

“You don’t have to,” she said, hating to be dependent on anyone—especially a man. They always expected something in return. She shoved the items into the brown bag without looking at them. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be fine.”

He took the cigar from his mouth and she watched the smoke as he exhaled. She was fascinated by the spiral and his obvious enjoyment of the tobacco product. The pungent smell didn’t bother her at all, she realized.

“I don’t mind taking you,” he said. The expression on his face was determined.

Miranda knew that he planned to help her whether she wanted him along or not. She was annoyed by his assumption that she needed his help—but the challenge in those chocolate brown eyes persuaded her to hold her temper. She doubted many people got the better of this man, and after the trials she’d been through today, she didn’t have the heart for a battle.

“This mountain is dangerous, darlin’,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “Especially to inexperienced vacationers. Besides, the sooner I get you to your cabin the sooner you’ll be out of my hair. No offense, ma’am. but I like my privacy.”

Miranda didn’t bother to correct his impression that she was on vacation. Let him think what he wanted. Hopefully after today they wouldn’t see each other again. She made a mental note to send him a box of cigars, and replied stiffly, “Thank you. If you’re determined to act as a guide, can we leave? I don’t want to get caught in this storm.”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

Working quickly they gathered up the rest of her groceries and Miranda tossed them into the sack. She tried to ignore the fact that the man’s jeans clung to his body like a second skin. Tried to ignore that the brush of his fingers against the back of her hand kindled an awareness she’d never experienced before. Tried to ignore that her body recognized in him something her mind wouldn’t accept

Thunder rumbled and streaks of distant lightning filled the sky. Miranda shivered in response. She was in trouble, even if he helped her back to the car and gave her directions. If the Mercedes had cooled enough to start, she’d still never make it to the cabin without getting drenched.

“That lightning’s still far off, darlin’. We’ll make it to your car.”

“My name’s Miranda Colby,” she said coolly. She hated being called by a generic endearment like darlin’. She wanted to be polite to him because he was going out of his way to help her but she resented his condescending tone.

“Luke Romero,” he said extending one large hand to her. The skin on his palm felt rough against her own and she involuntarily tightened her fingers. Slowly she released his hand, hating to lose the warmth, the security offered by that brief polite action. His hands were strong, capable. Not like the soft, well-manicured hands she was accustomed to shaking.

“We better get going if we’re going to beat the rain,” he said, and walked around the house. He stubbed the cigar out and put the stump in his shirt pocket. Miranda followed quickly, ready to find a warm, comfortable place.

Luke stashed her grocery bag in the back seat of his Suburban and helped Miranda into the truck. The courtesy was one that he usually didn’t bother with, but this lady looked tired. She smiled her thanks, but lines of strain bracketed her mouth, and he sensed she didn’t want his company.

He suspected her tiredness went beyond the fatigue of a long car drive or overwork. She had an air of vulnerability about her that was at odds with the elegance of her appearance. Bruised, he thought, as though even her bones ached. Shapely bones, his libido reminded him, as he walked around the truck.

Miss Colby was stacked. Though he’d sworn off women, he couldn’t help noticing the way her silk T-shirt clung to her generous curves and her designer jeans molded over rounded hips that invited a man’s touch. His palm actually tingled with the need to pat her backside.

Suddenly Luke was glad that the woman had the good sense to be leery of him. He didn’t want to play the games that women inevitably played with men. He’d moved to the mountains to escape all of that.

Luke downshifted the Suburban as he navigated the twisting dirt road. Maybe, he thought, she was just embarrassed at needing someone’s help. A lot of women these days liked to think they were self sufficient. Whatever the reason, it was none of his business. He’d come to the mountains, not to play the knight to some damsel in distress, but to rid himself of the stress and temptation in the city. To find a place where he was content and at peace.

He drove in silence, the tension in the truck simmering between them, like a live wire downed in an electrical storm.

He rounded the bend and saw a battered green sports car parked on the side of the road. Mud from last night’s rain caked the wheels. Luke bit back an instinctive curse and slowed the Suburban. “That your car?”

“Yes,” she said softly, not meeting his gaze. “I had no idea the mountain would be...”

“So steep,” he finished for her. He wished old Edgar would give up trying to make money off his hunting cabin. Without fail, he rented his place to someone with no camping experience. Luke’s first impulse was to tow her car down the mountain to the fork leading to her place, so that she’d be out of his hair. But last night’s mud and the threatening storm worked against him. He knew her car wouldn’t make it, even with the Suburban doing all the work.

Well, hell, he thought. This is what came of being neighborly. He backed the truck up to the Mercedes and got out to attach the chain to the car. Rain started to fall, not a soft summer rain, but a harsh torrent. He stood there for a minute, sure that the Almighty was punishing him for his earlier thoughts about the woman. He’d had no right to think of her in purely sexual terms and now he was paying the price.

He attached the chain to the back of his truck before climbing into the cab. Cold drops trickled slowly down his neck. The earthy scent of rain mingled with the essence of Miranda Colby. The primitive scents teased his base instincts and he reacted like a man who’d forgotten. Forgotten that cold rain could lead to cuddling. Forgotten that cuddling could lead to bold caresses. Forgotten the soft feel of that one special woman in his arms.

Miranda stared at him—guilt pouring off her like the icy drops from saturated clouds. Desire hit him hard. He knew he could never have her for his own but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted her.

In spite of the fact that she was prickly—hell, that was part of the attraction.

Oh, damn, he thought, I’ve been too long without a woman.

He didn’t say anything, or even look at her. Rain always made him irritable. It wasn’t her fault he’d given in to the unusual chivalrous impulse to help her.

“I’m sorry you got wet,” she said quietly. The tone in her voice clearly stated that she hadn’t asked for his help.

He nodded in acknowledgment, but kept silent. After stepping carefully on the gas, Luke watched through the rearview mirror as her car lurched drunkenly out of the mud. It bounced on the rutted dirt like a pull toy in the hands of a giant.

He breathed deeply, trying to absorb the essence of her into the fabric of his being. There was something pure and innocent about the woman sitting next to him, despite her city sophistication. She didn’t have the tough veneer he’d encountered in city women before. He’d known more than his share of hardened independent women who wanted only one thing from a man. And while he had no doubt that this little lady was successful, he knew there was much of life she hadn’t experienced. Part of his jaded soul was challenged by that innocence. He’d almost forgotten what innocence felt like. He quelled the urge to corrupt her.

She didn’t look like someone who’d want to be isolated on a mountain. She had the sleek polish of a professional career woman. The humidity had caused her thick hair to curl around her face in a way that brought to mind pixies. But he knew the cut would fall into a sophisticated style just as easily.

Forcing his attention off Miranda, he eased slowly forward, gathering the speed needed to tow the car up the mountain. The Suburban could tow twice the weight, but her car had him worried. The body and wheelbase were battered from driving up the mountain. Frankly, he was surprised she’d made it as far as she had. It said something about her determination.

“Please, stop.”

Startled, Luke braked and glanced at her, arching one brow in question.

“I’d rather go to my rental cabin.”

“Darlin’, your cabin is on the other side of the mountain. You’re only about twenty minutes’ walking distance in this weather, but you’re about two hours in driving time.”

“I’ll be on my way then. Thanks.”

She had the door open before her words registered. Stepping out into the pouring rain, she reached back for her food. “Give me a minute to stash this in the Mercedes—”

“There’s no way that car will make it down the side of this mountain and back up the other. I’ll let you try it if you’re determined. But I’m not going to haul you out of the mud again until the storm lets up.”

The stubborn tilt of her jaw told him he’d made a mistake. His words had been taken as a challenge instead of fact. He bet she never turned down a dare. “Darlin’, it’s the car, not you.”

She just stood there making him feel big and mean in a way he hadn’t since Brett looked up at him with big weepy eyes and asked why Luke wasn’t his daddy anymore.

“I can’t stay with you,” she said, her voice heavy with raw emotion.

“I’m not asking you to move in, darlin’, but you can stay at my cabin until the rain clears.”

She hesitated, but she really had little choice. Relictantly, she nodded, “Just until the rain lets up a bit then I’ll walk over to the rental place.”

The rain slowed to a steady downpour that Luke knew from experience would last until dawn. Though the storm wasn’t an intense one, the ground would be slick and the night treacherous. Already the sky had darkened and in another twenty minutes it would be pitch-black outside.

He waited patiently for her to reseat herself and close the door. He refused to look at her but the image of her in that wet T-shirt stayed firmly in his mind. The image of her hardened nipples peaked against the cold, damp cloth wouldn’t leave. Would they be that resporrsive to his mouth and fingers?

When she was settled, he put the truck back into motion. Damn fool woman. Hell, damn fool man for caring about her safety. The touch of vulnerability beneath her sophisticated facade made him want to protect her. Despite the lessons he’d learned about women from his ex-wife.

He couldn’t let her go alone to Edgar’s hunting cabin even though it was what he should do. The mountain and Mother Nature in general weren’t kind to the weaker sex. He knew some women were strong—stronger than him—but this little thing wasn’t.

She looked as if a gust of wind could push her over the side of his mountain. She had no car, no coat and would probably insist on taking that bag of junk food with her. Luke shook his head and cursed his daddy for raising him with a strict code pertaining to women. Without that upbringing he’d probably let her go off on her own.

He pulled into his driveway and stared at the woman next to him. The woman whose pretty gray eyes reminded him of the mist that ringed the mountain most mornings. A keen intelligence gleamed in her gaze along with a trace of fear. Fear of him? he wondered.

He walked around to open her door but she was already standing on the ground when he got there. She had that bag of groceries clutched to her chest like a shield. Tugging the sack from her, he started for his house, letting her follow.

A damp chill settled over him as he led her to the front porch of the cabin he’d built with his own hands. Staring at it now—imagining how it looked to her eyes—he felt a sense of pride.

He knew from past experience that his house would be warm and dry. The last thing he wanted was to go back out into the wet night.

“It’s cold and dark. The woods are dangerous to novice hikers. Stay with me until morning.”

“I’d rather go on,” she said. Something in that soft, tired voice convinced him to quit arguing with her. She needed to be at a place where she could relax. And it wasn’t in a bachelor’s cabin. Truth to tell, the sooner he left her presence the better it would be for him.

“Okay, I’ll take you,” he said. Her gaze melted under his, becoming so feminine that his gut tightened in reaction. “But under one condition.”

“What?”

He wanted to reassure her but knew any protestations of innocence from him wouldn’t be convincing. He’d lived life to the fullest before retiring to the mountains. He stared into that fine-boned face and felt each of those decadent years as if they were wrapped around his neck with a heavy chain.

Years of recklessly prowling the country on his low rider with women of easy virtue. Years of barroom brawls and morning afters spent in the cool-down tank at the local sheriff’s office. Years of fast living and hard times.

He smiled the grin that his ex-wife had told him would drive fear into the heart of the devil himself, and drawled in that deep Texan accent his daddy had taught him to use on a stubborn woman. “Darlin’, it involves me, you and a warm, dry room.”

Two

Miranda wrestled with the instinctive urge to bolt. The prospect of being lost in the woods seemed less frightening then being caught alone with this man. His sexy tempting grin, and soft drawling voice signaled trouble. Those chocolate-colored eyes saw right through her limited defenses.

“What?” she asked, stalling for time.

Her heart raced and her body sent fight-or-flight signals to her brain. Calm down. He’s just a man. She bit back the hysterical laughter she felt welling in the back of her throat. He was so much more than just a man. And she knew it all the way to her guarded inner soul.

Using the composure she’d cultivated to use on the tough good-old-boy-network customers, she said, “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Romero. I’m not...”

He silenced her with a long look, boldly roaming her face then traveling slowly all the way down her shivering body. The diamond stud in his ear winked at her, catching the fire from a jagged streak of lightning.

A crooked smile creased his face. Something changed in the air around her and in the intent in his eyes. What had frightened her earlier?

“I meant dinner, darlin’. Maybe some dry clothes. Nothing more.”

His casual shrug made a mockery of her fear. Get a grip, she warned—he wasn’t interested in anything more than getting her out of the storm. Stealing a glance at her sodden attire, she cringed. Wet cloth adhered to her skin like a diecast mold, clinging to her body to reveal what she’d hoped to have hidden. She looked like the loser in a wet T-shirt contest.

“Okay,” she said, hoping to sound more confident than she felt. Going toe-to-toe with a disgruntled business manager or arguing the finer points of tax laws she could handle. But on the basic man-to-woman interchanges, she was at a loss.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, feeling too exposed. Fatigue stole around her like cold on a winter’s day, sapping her strength. What she really wanted was a bed to climb into and her comfortable sweats so that she’d be warm again. She wondered what it would be like if she stayed in the cabin with this warm, sexy man.

She cast a nervous glance in his direction. Luke stared out at the rain. It was obvious he’d already dismissed her from his mind. She wished he were as easily banished from her thoughts.

She’d never been this aware of a man before. No man had ever sparked a deep response in her. But Luke Romero was different. She wanted to know more about him. Why live on the top of a mountain? Why wear cowboy boots and a Stetson in a log cabin? Why help her though it was obvious he guarded his privacy?

His body heat radiated out to her in waves reminding her that it was still raining. She wanted to go closer to him and absorb his warmth into her tired body. She wanted to lean against him, to feel herself surrounded by him. Wait a minute, Miranda. No man who offered his support would want a woman who had nothing to give in return.

He opened the door, gesturing for her to step inside with a quick jerk of his head. So much for country charm.

She hesitated. Her mother had drilled into her at a very young age not to come into the house wet. “I’m soaked.”

He glanced down, apparently noticing the puddle at his feet for the first time. He’d left his Stetson in the cab of his truck. The incongruity of a fully dressed man with wet hair probed her imagination.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded. The man was obviously used to being in charge.

She gulped. Had he somehow peeked into her mind and read her lecherous thoughts. “Why?”

“I’m going to strip out of these wet clothes and go find something dry for us to wear.”

I’m going to have a heart attack, she thought. She stared at him unsure of her own reactions. In a shaking voice, she said, “I have dry clothes in my car.”

“I’ll go get them. Which bag?”

“The green-striped canvas one on the passenger seat.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out her key ring. “It’s the big square one.”

He loped down the steps and back out into the rain. Miranda tried not to stare at him. But the image of bunching leg muscles and buttocks stayed firmly in her mind. What did his bare legs look like? His chest had a light mat of hair. Would his legs be hairy? What color was the hair? Stop it! she ordered herself.

While she waited, she studied the porch. A battered lawn chair stood guard in one corner and a basket with wood shavings lay in the other. The place was neat and tidy. She wasn’t surprised. He looked like a man who avoided clutter.

He returned a minute later with her overnight bag slung over his shoulder. She shivered as the cold, wet wind gusted up onto the scant shelter of his porch. A wave of heat seemed to come alive and stretch out of the open door, reaching around her body. Luke nudged her closer to the doorway, but she hesitated.

Luke reached around her and grabbed a worn, dry poncho from somewhere inside the cabin. “Drape this over yourself while you take off those wet clothes.”

She hesitated before reaching for the garment. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand and a shiver coursed through her body. He stepped back.

“Turn around,” he said, the drawl in his voice lower and deeper than before.

She hesitated.

“I mean now, darlin’. Get changed.” The sharp command bore little resemblance to that soft teasing tone of just moments earlier.

She pivoted away from him and stood rooted to the spot like a hundred-year-old sequoia. There was no mistaking the sound of his zipper opening. She pictured him as he’d been earlier in his bath, chest and back naked. Still she couldn’t force her fingers to move. Oh, God, help me.

“I’m not watching you, darlin’. You can get changed.” Again the words were smooth as honey dripping over her skin. She sighed, wishing for a tenth of his confidence and ease in this situation.

His soft, drawling voice tiptoed down her spine like a cat burglar in an art museum. She heard him walk inside the house and stood there for a moment longer. The night was cold and damp.

Come on, coward, get changed.

She dropped her wet clothing on the floor by her feet and pulled on the clean underwear and khakis. She bent, digging through her bag before she unearthed the long-sleeved thermal top.

Dropping the poncho to the floor, she pulled her shirt over her head and finger combed her wet hair. She peeked into the cabin and found Luke by the fireplace, adding wood to the fire. He’d changed into a flannel shirt and wheat-colored jeans. The cigar he’d put out earlier was lit and clenched between his teeth. Its fragrance now familiar to her.

Stepping over the threshold, she quietly closed the door behind her. Heat seeped through her clothes and into her skin, warming her completely.

The exposed-beam cabin welcomed her like a pair of worn shoes, knowing the fit and feel of her feet. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall of the cabin. Plate glass windows lined another and a bank of glass doors the final. The effect was one of openness. Miranda imagined that on a clear night the stars would seem to be within arms’ reach, almost touchable.

A winding staircase led to an open loft, and though the cabin had a definite masculine feel to it, she’d never felt more at home. Not even in the sophisticated home of her childhood or the trendy little condo she’d spent a large chunk of her savings on. She sighed, moving closer to the fire and the man who knelt by the hearth, patiently feeding kindling to the growing blaze. Her inner voice warned her to stay back from Luke Romero, but something drew her closer to him.

“Can I help?”

Luke felt Miranda’s presence behind him before she spoke. Her voice was soft and light, playing over his senses like summer rain over the dry ground. He questioned the wisdom of his decision to bring her back here, but didn’t like the answer he received from his raging hormones and lonely soul. He bit down on the end of his cigar.

The woman had more thorns than a briar patch and more contradictions than a television preacher. That didn’t stop some foolish part of his soul from wanting to know more about her. To unravel the secrets that she kept hidden behind those big gray eyes.

“Have a seat and warm up.” He stood and stared down at her, abruptly realizing that the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She was so tiny. Any doubts he had about letting her find her own way to her cabin died. “I’ll be right back with the stew.”

He served up venison stew made from meat that he’d cured himself. Living on the mountain reaffirmed his belief in the man he’d become. He’d come a long way from his wild, roaming youth in the rodeo. A long way from the young man who’d watched his best friend die beneath the stomping hooves of a beast. Part of him still longed to prove to his father that he’d made a success of his life without his father’s land, approval or the hand-picked wife.

Now he had to deal with a city woman again. A lady with crystal eyes that gleamed with intelligence and fatigue. A lady who was used to control—she bristled at every order he issued—yet here on his mountain was oddly vulnerable. A lady whose body promised pleasure that would lead to trouble.

Why then did exhilaration make the back of his neck tingle? The same outlaw feeling as when he pushed his Harley to the limit. Wearing no helmet, using no common sense and obeying no rules. Just pure thrill and a fear he’d never admit out loud.

“Enough,” he said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud until his voice broke the silence that had fallen.

“What?” Miranda asked. The fire’s light played over her brown hair, picking out the red highlights and making her seem more untouchable than ever. An ethereal fairy sent to cast a spell over him and make mischief in his life.

“Nothing,” he replied gruffly. He forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand—finishing dinner and getting her safely out of his cabin. He tossed the remains of the cigar into the fire, unable to enjoy it any longer.

“How long will you be vacationing up here?” he asked, needing to know exactly when she’d be leaving so that he’d be able to hunt in her neighborhood again. He wanted to avoid her while she vacationed on his mountain.

“I’m not on vacation.”

Luke felt as if he’d been sucker punched by fate. Damn it all. When was life going to stop throwing these tricky little kinks at him? He should have learned that lesson long ago. “So when are you leaving?”

Her mouth curved down and she looked away from him. He heard her take a shaky breath before she glanced back at him. “I haven’t decided. A few months, maybe more.”

Luke stood and gathered the dishes, dumping them in the sink. The sooner he got her to her cabin the better. He wasn’t going to ask her any more questions, though he was tempted to get to know her better. He grabbed his slicker off the peg near the door. “I’ll be right back.”

The late April rain had let up a little and a sliver of moon lit the sky, the illumination not enough to brighten even a small distance in front of him. Luke cursed as he walked back into the cabin for a flashlight. He didn’t want her staying on his mountain tonight or any other night. He didn’t want to have to think of her sleeping in that old, decrepit cabin, a soft city woman in his domain. He didn’t want to think of those peachy pink lips, crushed beneath his, because if she stayed, he’d kiss her. The temptation was slowly eroding his defenses much the way Mother Nature had worn away the valley that he gazed at each morning. Slowly, but inevitably.

He scanned the room and found Miranda stretching in front of the fireplace. Her arms held high above her head, her breasts pushing against the cotton of her shirt, her eyes closed, and a smile of sensual delight on her face as the fire’s warmth played against her skin. Lust hit him—hard. He clenched his fists.

He had to get her out of here before his control snapped. Before he forgot that he didn’t want a woman in his life. Before he forgot that short-term affairs weren’t that fulfilling anymore. Before he forgot that he was a loner because life was safer that way.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice sounding gritty and deep to his own ears. It was a wonder he didn’t frighten her with it.

Her eyes snapped open. All semblance of relaxation vanished. She tensed under his watchful gaze.

“Is it getting worse outside?”

Her husky voice toyed with his mind, creating images he had no business thinking. Images of him and her on the quilt his grandmother had made for him. Clothed only in the fire’s light and a sheen of sweat. Luke closed his eyes and counted to ten. Control, he reminded himself. Ride the beast, don’t let the beast ride you. His father’s advice echoed in his head like the unwanted ringing from a hangover.

Though the old man had died fifteen years ago, Luke had never reconciled with him and felt his father’s presence as keenly as he felt the absence of the land he should have inherited. He felt it fitting that his father still tried to control his life from beyond the grave. Fitting because he’d had the chance make peace with his father but chose instead to stay silent. A father should believe in his son always.

“Yes, but I’ll get you to your cabin.”

She nodded, sliding her feet into worn deck shoes. Her feet were long and slender with high arches and a delicate peach tint on her toenails. The color only a shade lighter than her lips.

Get busy, he ordered himself. He grabbed a canvas laun dry sack from his days on the road with the rodeo, tossing her wet clothes into it. “Do you need anything else from the car for tonight?”

“Yes,” she said, slinging the strap of the overnight bag over her shoulder. “I’ll go to the car with you.”

He realized she didn’t have a raincoat. The next time he saw Edgar Jennings he was going to kick his old, gnarled butt down the mountain. Why couldn’t he rent his cabin to someone who knew how to pack for this kind of weather? Someone who didn’t show up in the middle of the rainy season in a car without four-wheel drive. Someone who looked like Edgar and was about as friendly as a hungry alligator.

But the poncho leaked and the rain showed no sign of letting up. He shrugged out of his slicker and handed it to her. He had a duster upstairs in a box somewhere.

“Use this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He climbed the stairs with a carefully measured stride and paused at the top. She stood in the middle of the room staring up at him from those brilliant crystal eyes. “If you go outside, take the flashlight from under the sink.”

Luke refused to acknowledge the small tightening as anything other than anger. He grabbed the duster from the bottom of the old cardboard box and ignored the items that spilled onto the floor. He stalked back down the stairs. Picking up her overnight bag and the laundry sack, he went outside.

Miranda stood by her car with a large bag slung over her shoulder and her grocery bag. “This is all I’ll need for now.”

The spring rain made the roads impossible even for the Suburban. The mountain was treacherous and malevolent toward the foolish and the stupid. Something Luke had learned the hard way. He took the grocery sack from her.

“Thanks.”

“Let’s go,” he said between clenched teeth. The path between his place and Miranda’s was difficult in full daylight, at night it was downright dangerous, but not impassable.

Luke cursed under his breath as a wet tree branch smacked against his shoulder. The rain had slowed but the water hung suspended in the leaves, showering them with a cold blast whenever the wind blew.

He shifted the overnight bag to his left hand where he held the flashlight. He reached back to help Miranda over a fallen log. She glanced at his hand, then at his face before placing her hand in his.

She would be happy to be rid of him. But he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. He’d take care of her, whether she wanted him to or not. The thought of her lost out here haunted him like the memory of past mistakes.

A quarter of an hour later the ramshackle old hunting cabin came into view. The lack of light made the small wood structure look like a fright house at the fair. Luke knew from experience that it didn’t look much better during the day. But it was fairly sturdy.

He played the light over the front porch, checking for rodents. He glanced at Miranda wondering if she’d change her mind now. If she’d agree to go back to his place and then let him escort her off the mountain in the morning. He expected to see some sign of disappointment or revulsion.

“At last,” she said. “Just dump that bag inside the door.”

Luke was sure that the fatigue from the long day must have caught up with her. She’d brought a sack of junk food and had only two bags of possessions with her. She stared at that damned eyesore as though it was...home.

He didn’t think the run-down cabin was much of anything, but if his alternative housing was a small convertible he guessed he’d be more excited about the shack in front of him.

“Let me check inside,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want to like her, but he admired her grit. It was the one city trait he could relate to. He figured it was a kickback to Neanderthal times when humans had been forced to carve a place for themselves in the world—only the trappings had changed and the corporate world demanded as much from its challengers as Mother Nature did.

“That’s okay. I’ll take care of it. I’m sure you want to be on your way.”

“This place has been empty since last June. There could be all kinds of critters inside.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she said firmly.

He gritted his teeth. Luke had the feeling he’d just been dismissed. God save him from bossy women, he thought.

“Fine,” he said, but hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

Common sense to kick in, he thought wryly. “You to go inside.”

She frowned at him—an intimidating expression that made him want to grin. If he’d learned one thing about Miranda, it was that the woman liked things to be her way. He waited, living on the mountain had taught him patience.

“Very well. Thank you again for your help, Mr. Romero.”

“No problem, darlin’.”

He waited until she disappeared inside through the front door and he saw her light come on. He walked away knowing that it was the sensible thing to do.

A stubborn woman as a neighbor and raging hormones he’d thought he’d finally mastered. He wanted her and he damned himself for it.

Three

Luke’s cabin was deserted when Miranda arrived three days later. She left a basket of chocolate chip cookies on the front porch. She’d scraped all of the black burnt stuff off the bottoms and they looked pretty good. Her mother had been so excited when she’d called to get the recipe from her. She’d baked eight dozen cookies, but had only been able to rescue a few.

Determined to tackle nature and take control of her surroundings, she stepped off his porch and retrieved her fishing gear from the ground. She planned on catching dinner today. The thought of eating another peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich made her cringe. She’d eaten so much junk food in the past two days that she’d had trouble sleeping. Focusing on the disturbing images of those chocolate brown eyes or that twinkling stud earring hadn’t helped.

She picked her way across the meadow. The mountain that seemed so malevolent toward her that first night, now apologized with a beautiful spring day. The air still had a chill to it, but the sun promised warmth. She spread her arms and lifted her head, drinking in the beauty that surrounded her.

The tow-truck driver who had dropped her car off this morning had talked endlessly about the weather, the tourist season and the wildflowers blooming in the meadow. Friendly chitchat that had no point. She’d been at a loss as to what to say. Miranda wanted to ask questions about Luke but knew in a small community such as this one the gossip would flow steadily out of control. So instead she’d held her tongue, leaving her imagination free to create whatever images it wanted to.

The detailed tattoo danced through her mind. The tanned skin underneath the hawk made her fingers long to caress him. She wanted to test the resilience of the padded muscles on his back.

Enough, she thought. Her laptop computer and modem would be installed tomorrow afternoon. She wanted something to occupy her time. The mountain, though pretty, still wasn’t an environment she felt comfortable in. Her adjustment time was taking longer than she’d expected, but the only obstacle she’d been unable to conquer was her own body’s weakness. She knew in a few weeks she’d find the balance she was seeking and she’d have something familiar to concentrate on instead of Luke Romero and his disturbing sensuality.

She found the stream and spent a few minutes picking through the grass and debris left by the storm until she found the perfect spot.

Clean, clear water rustled softly, winding its way downstream. The fish swimming at the bottom were visible and a crisp fresh scent of wildflowers filled the air. She stood perfectly still for a moment letting nature’s beauty soak into the fabric of her being.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself.

The Field and Stream magazine she’d purchased before leaving Atlanta had a few pictures of fishermen—all of them standing in the middle of a stream in hip-high waders. She wanted to cast from the relative safety of the bank.

She’d baited the hook easily, having no trouble imagining the squirmy little worm as her ex-fiancé. It was petty and spiteful, but worked dam well.

She glanced at the book on the ground and then back at her rod and reel. It should be easier than this, she thought. Children do this every day.

She stood, mimicking the stance she saw on the magazine’s glossy page. She raised her arm over her head and tried to copy the wrist-snapping motion she’d seen others use. She hooked something before she landed the line in the water. She started to reel it in, but the line grew taut and wouldn’t budge.

Miranda set the pole on the ground and grimaced at the branch of the tree holding her hook captive. The lowest branches were too high for her grab hold of and swing herself into the tree. She doubted she’d be able to scale the trunk without help. But what kind of help?

She was alone in the forest, miles from civilization and her only neighbor was a man who wanted nothing to do with her. Besides, the role of helpless woman wasn’t one she wanted to play. She tugged on the line, hoping to free the hook, but the lure tightened its grip on the small branch and hung on.

Jumping, she latched onto a sturdy branch and tried to wiggle her way up the trunk. Her sweaty hands slid on the bark and she slid back toward the ground. She hung suspended.

“Great,” she muttered.

“Need some help?”

Miranda screamed and fell to the ground. She braced herself, ready to do battle. Luke Romero stood there looking... she struggled to describe the expression in his eyes. He looked as if he didn’t want to be at this place at this time.

“Can you free my line?”

He rocked back on his heels, staring up at the large tree. The fishing pole swayed with the branches.

“Maybe.” He paced under the branches for a few minutes. “Stand back.”

He leapt, catching the lowest branch and then pulled himself up the tree. Miranda watched the graceful movements with envy and awe. Luke moved like a man sure of himself and his environment.

Today, his hair was held off his neck in a ponytail and his Stetson was nowhere to be found. The bill of a faded baseball cap was tucked into the back pocket of illegally tight jeans. A small hoop earring hung through his ear, enforcing his outlaw image, and the pungent scent of a cigar lingered on his clothes. He looked like a pirate who had been at sea for too long.

He freed her line and joined her on the ground. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” she said, watching his large hands move carefully over the hook, freeing bits of greenery from its teeth. She wondered if they’d handle a woman with the same attention.

“No problem,” he said.

He handed the fishing pole to her, before pulling the baseball cap out of his back pocket and putting it on.

“Thanks for the cookies.”

Miranda blushed, wondering if he’d actually eaten one. “Did you try them?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning suddenly. “Well, you know, they weren’t the greatest cookies I’ve ever had.” His voice was so soft she had a hard time hearing the next words. “But no one’s ever baked anything for me before.”

Miranda felt a tiny clenching around her heart and all her maternal instincts urged her to reach out to the boy inside of Luke and comfort him. Maternal instincts, she thought with a touch of sadness. Was it possible for a woman who couldn’t have kids to be maternal? She’d never thought so until that very moment.

His gaze met hers, his brown eyes full of emotion and pain. She started to touch him, then stopped. Her hand hung awkwardly between them. The tanned shade of his skin made hers look pale.

“It was a first for me, too,” she said at last, dropping her hand.

He smiled. Miranda felt something open up inside of her that she’d thought she’d lost. Something rare and fragile that reminded her of childhood and the days of wonder. Something beautiful and scary but she refused to analyze it now.

Miranda’s soft laughter echoed the sound of the water tripping over the rocks downstream. The rippling effect spread slowly throughout his body. He’d warned himself to stay away from her. Knew that he shouldn’t have left the safety of the north face of the mountain where she would never wander. Knew that he should’ve gotten on the Harley and gone to town. Knew that this was the worst possible thing for him to be doing, but he stayed all the same.

The sunlight dripped through the leaves of the trees that surrounded the bank, bathing Miranda in its golden light. Her skin had the same hue as orange-blossom honey. Soft, light and tempting as hell. The urge to taste her was overwhelming, to lick at her skin until the essence of her was imbedded in his senses. But he fought it.

He groaned, picking up the fishing pole he’d set aside a half hour earlier. Time to put things in their proper perspective. He’d known he was in trouble when he opened the lid on that basket and seen the cookies lying inside. No one ever made cookies for him.

His mother died long before he was able to chew them on his own and his dad’s girlfriends weren’t the type to spend time in the kitchen. The cookies were definitely the worst he’d ever tasted but that didn’t matter. It was the thought that counted.

“Ready to catch your supper?”

She nodded. “I’m guessing you don’t need the magazine to show you how to stand.”

“What magazine?”

She lifted a new issue of Field and Stream, showing him the marked page. “It’s just as well, these instructions got me into trouble the first time.”

“Darlin’, that man is fly-fishing.” The picture reminded him of years earlier when he and his estranged brother Jake had spent a weekend at the river. Luke scowled and pushed the memory aside, ignoring the remembered camaraderie. Jake’s betrayal was all he wanted to associate with his brother.

“I know. I figured I’d better use this pole. Fly-fishing looks very complicated.”

“It is. But you have to use a different stroke with this pole.”

She flushed. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman color at a suggestive remark. He pretended that her reaction didn’t warm his heart.

“What kind of stroke?” she asked, her voice husky with suppressed emotion.

“A delicate stroke, one that builds anticipation. A teasing stroke that makes the fish think you’ve been there all along. A tempting stroke that’ll lead her right into your trap.”

“Stop it,” she said.

He showed her how to fish, leaving off the words he’d been using to entice her. He demonstrated the casting technique before handing the rod to Miranda. She reeled in her first catch of weeds a few seconds later. The lady simply didn’t have the right swing.

Luke stepped behind her. Her floral perfume wrapped around his senses like a warm breeze on a cool day. He cursed himself as a fool but reached around and took the fishing pole from her hands. She started as his chest brushed against her back. The soft, rounded curves of her hips were a temptation he couldn’t ignore. The urge to drop the fishing pole and sink his fingers into her flesh almost overpowered him. Instead, he forced himself to strip the weeds from the hook.

“Do you really want to learn how to fish?” he asked, hoping for a negative answer. Yet, at the same time he knew he didn’t have to stay. That the only reason he was still here was because she’d given him those rotten-tasting cookies. A sweet gesture from a prickly woman.

“Yes.”

Damn, he cursed silently, then took a deep breath. Inhaling more than air, inhaling the very essence of the tiny woman standing next to him. So close, but farther away than Miami at the moment. “I’m going to put my hands over yours and show you how to cast.”

“Okay,” she said, turning to face him with her hands extended.

Great idea, he thought. Perfect way to avoid his raging hormones and her sweet curves, but it wouldn’t work.

“Turn around, darlin’. You’ve got to face the stream to catch fish.”

She followed his directions, standing stiffly in front of him. “What now?”

He walked closer to her, allowing only an inch of space between them. “I’m going to put my arms around you. Place your hands on the pole so that you can feel the flow of the cast.”

He demonstrated the overhead motion of his arm, releasing the line slowly as it came over their heads. The lure landed in the middle of the stream without so much as a ripple.

“Now, comes the tricky part,” he whispered, directly into her ear. “Waiting. Stay perfectly still.”

A lone trout swam close to the lure. “Watch carefully. This is where luck doesn’t count. It’s just you and the fish and you have to be patient...until... Come on, baby. That’s it, take the bait, you know you want it.”

Luke continued talking in that low modulated tone. The way his daddy had taught him to, years before when he was more a boy than a man. Back when his father had still respected him. Miranda relaxed against him, letting his body direct hers. Her hands still held ready over his and then slowly the speckled fish took the bait. He felt her backbone stiffen with excitement.

“Don’t lose it now with impatience. Let him get a good hold on the worm and pull it in slowly. Now.”

Luke reeled in the fish. Miranda ducked under his arms and grabbed a net to put the trout in. He unhooked the fish and placed him in the net Miranda held.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Did you bring a cooler?”

“I thought that was only used to hold beer, so I left it at home.” Her brow wrinkled as she searched her meager supplies for something to put the fish in. “Fishing is more complicated than I was led to believe.”

Luke couldn’t help himself. She sounded so disgruntled and looked so cute with her navy shorts and baggy T-shirt that he hugged her to his side in a quick embrace. “Don’t worry, darlin’. This guy’s too small to keep.”

“Great,” she muttered.

Luke tossed the fish back into the stream with a powerful motion of his wrist. The trout hit the water and swam quickly away. “Why don’t you practice while I go back for a cooler?”

“Okay,” she said, her gaze fixed on the worm bucket.

“Want me to bait the hook before I go?”

She gave him a look so haughty it made him want to kiss her. She had so many contradictions.

“I like this part,” she said. A huge grin spread across her face like dawn creeping past the power of the night.

“Why?” he asked, unable to fathom what she’d find amusing about baiting the hook.

She blushed but refused to answer. Luke turned away without pushing. He’d broken some major rules today but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. A part of his soul felt lighter—almost as if it’d come home. He hadn’t realized that home could be a feeling and not a place. He’d thought of his home as always being lost to him, the ranch house and acreage in West Texas gone forever. He didn’t want to question why, but knew the answer was sitting beside a cool mountain stream, fishing.

Miranda watched the last rays of the setting sun dip beneath the horizon. She’d been back from her fishing expedition for a few hours. She washed her hands under the outdoor spigot and glanced at her watch. She had less than ten minutes to get over to Luke’s place. Her hands shook as she dried them with the towel.

Hurrying inside, she changed into a pair of baggy khaki shorts and a short-sleeved oxford-style shirt. Standing in front of the mirror she wished she were anyone else. She wanted to be more like the women she’d seen who’d been at ease with men, but her career had always been first. She’d been sixteen when her doctor had told her she’d never be able to have kids. She’d overheard her father saying that marriage would never be an option for her. Miranda had focused on her education and career, following her dad into finance. Until Warren came along, pursuing her and saying he wanted a marriage without kids, allowing her to keep her secret. She didn’t really know how to entice a man and in her heart she knew disappointment would follow if she did succeed in seducing the sexy mountain man who lived so close to her.

She’d invited Luke on impulse. He’d accepted, but only after insisting that he cook their dinner at his place. She went down the hall to the kitchen where she cut up the vegetables for the salad. She sealed the salad in a plastic container and added it to the cooler where she’d placed a bottle of wine.

Single living was lonely on the side of the mountain. Maybe that was why she kept finding excuses to visit her neighbor. She didn’t even know who owned the town house next to hers in Atlanta. She had three friends and they were all through work. She’d never gone out of her way to encourage anyone to be close to her, preferring her own company.

But she wanted someone else’s company now. Not just anyone’s, she admitted to herself—Luke Romero’s.

She paused at the edge of his property. He was singing again. One of those sad love songs that made her heart weep. She almost turned back, afraid to confront him lest he was bathing again, but then he stopped singing.

She crept around the side of the house, finding an empty tub. Whispering a silent prayer of thanks, she glanced around for Luke. He faced the empty meadow that was his backyard, his head bent and hands on his hips.

The utterly masculine pose took her breath away. A black T-shirt molded to the thick muscles of his back and tight jeans conformed to his legs. He was all man—more man than she’d ever encountered.

He raised his hands to his mouth and the sound of a blues harmonica filled the air. The music drew her closer to him. She couldn’t turn away from that slow, sensuous sound if her life depended on it.

Her blood started pulsing in beat with the music. A strange sort of lethargy stole through her bones. She wanted to be closer to the source of the sound. Setting the cooler on the steps of the back porch, she approached Luke.

He continued to play but turned toward her. His deep brown eyes watched her like a trapped wolf waiting for the death knell. She knew that this was a side he didn’t like people to see. Something precious and rare unfolded inside her. She had one chance to grab hold of this emotion before it disappeared forever. One chance to experience a real man and real passion.

She took another step toward him.

He stopped playing. The hand holding the harmonica dropped to his side. He stared at her as if he’d never seen her kind before; as if she were the first woman to invade his world; as if she were the only woman he was hungry for. The only woman he needed or wanted in his life, but Miranda knew that it was only an illusion and she was seeing what she wanted to see, not what was really there. No man could ever really want her.

Long moments of silence fell between them and the creatures of the night began their daily symphony filling the meadow with sounds so sweet that only Luke’s harmonica could compete with them. Miranda wrapped her arms around her waist, trying desperately to remember why she’d come here.

But before she remembered, Luke paced to her—stopping only when his breath brushed her face. He smelled of mint, cigar and coffee. She opened her mouth, breathing in his breath, tasting something more than the caffeine, the tobacco and the freshness; tasting something so essentially male that it unnerved her.

“I brought a salad and wine,” she said into the silence.

He nodded but didn’t say a word. Only continued to stand there, towering above her like a pagan god of ancient times. She cleared her throat and took a step back, putting distance between herself and this man before something happened. Something that she wouldn’t be able to control.

“What took you so long?” he asked, his hot gaze running over her, leaving a slow burning in its wake.

What had he said? He stared at her lips and they tingled. She ached to know the taste and feel of his mouth. Would it be as fulfilling as the teasing breath had promised?

“I’m three minutes early,” she said, unable to keep quiet. “I brought a book that demonstrates how to grill trout on an open fire.”

“I’ve grilled before so you can hold on to that book.” Amusement was clear in his voice. She remembered the Field and Stream magazine fiasco and shook her head.

Miranda didn’t know why she felt like a teenager all over again. But something about Luke brought to mind those long, lonely days when she’d felt excited, nervous and unsure of the future. She forgot the sophistication she’d carefully cultivated in the intervening years. Damn.

He smiled. His teeth white against the rough, tanned skin of his face. He had a nice mouth, with lips that tempted her to lean closer, to taste him. To trace the individual serrations of his teeth with her tongue. To feel it moving over her own with the same precision he’d used to play the harmonica.

She felt the honey of his drawl before the words left his mouth. “Since you went to all the trouble of making the salad and bringing the wine, I’ll clean the fish.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He chuckled and the sound of his laughter filled the meadow as his music had earlier. Miranda couldn’t help the giddy feeling that washed over her. Luke joined hands with her. The feel of his palm brushing against her own was strangely disquieting.

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