Jake looked hard at her, tried his best to find a schemer there, a shallow opportunist. He desperately wanted her not to be what he wanted, because otherwise he couldn’t bear to give her away.
But there was no guile in those eyes, just concern. Just soul-deep beauty and life. Just the deadly narcotic of simple desire.
“You obviously think that last night was a mistake,” Amanda said without preamble, her voice soft, her eyes dark. “Did you want to tell me why?”
Jake couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t look at her and lie. He sure as hell couldn’t tell the truth. Lurching up from the couch, he strode over to face the fireplace.
“Don’t you think it was a mistake?” he demanded.
“No.” It was almost the voice of a child, soft with injury, hesitant with uncertainty. “Why should I?”
He turned on her. “Because you don’t belong here. You don’t belong with me. You never did, no matter what happened last night.”
Jake saw the pain he was inflicting. He saw a vulnerability he’d never thought to find in Amanda’s eyes. Not this woman who spent time in New York and Hollywood, who was quoted in gossip columns and textbooks. She had no business looking suddenly so frail.
“Look around you, Amanda,” he insisted. “This is what I am. It’s what I have. A ranch, some horses, and a family I’ve raised since I was twelve. I’ve never been to a restaurant fancier than Stilwell’s. I left Wyoming once, and damn near walked home to get back. I wear old jeans and older boots, and it’s been since Lee graduated high school in June that I’ve had a suit coat on. Is that the kind of life you’re looking for? Tied to one place? Working twelve to fourteen hours a day just to see that your animals get the basic care, having to schedule your whole life around the needs of the ranch, working yourself to death just so your children can do the same?”
Jake was shaking. His chest was on fire, and his gut was churning. He impaled Amanda on the truth, the truth he’d let her see. He battered her with reality and saw her features soften with consideration.
“Well?” he demanded yet again, pushing, driving her away while he still could. “Are you ready to give up those fancy clothes and your passport for all this?”
She met his gaze then, and her eyes were thoughtful instead of outraged. Quiet rather than angry. But her answer, when it came, was devastating, anyway. And just what he thought he’d wanted.
“No,” she admitted simply. “I’m not.”
