The Cowboy

didn't give you an answer the first time you asked. Or the second or the third. Your first love is business and your overriding passion in life is for making money, not making love."
    Rafe contrived to look hurt. "I don't recall you complaining too loud in bed."
    Margaret clenched her fists. "On the rare occasions you managed to find time to take me to bed you performed just fine."
    "Why, thank you, honey. It's real sweet of you to remember."
    "You're missing the point," she hissed.
    "Yeah?"
    "The point is, you don't have a lot of time in your life for a relationship of any kind. During the two months we were dating you were always flying into Seattle for a weekend and then flying out again Monday morning. Or you would show up on my doorstep at midnight on a Wednesday, take me to bed and then disappear at six the next day to get to a business conference in L.A."
    "I admit I used to do a fair amount of traveling, but I've cut back lately."
    "And when you weren't traveling, you were tied up at the office. Remember all those times you called from Tucson and told me you wouldn't be able to make it up here to Seattle? I was expected to rearrange all my plans to accommodate you. Or else you'd arrive with a briefcase full of work and Doug Hatcher in tow and the two of you would take over my living room for a full day."
    "Now, honey, there was a lot going on at the time."
    "With you there always will be a lot going on. It's your nature. Your mother was kind enough to point that out to me. Said you were just like your father. You thrive on your work. Beating the competition to the draw is the most important thing in your life."
    "You're getting carried away now, Maggie, love. Just take it easy, honey. I'm dead serious about this. I want to get married."
    "Oh, I believe you. You'd find a wife useful. You want a wife who will be a convenience for you—someone to handle your entertaining, your home, your social life. Someone who will warm your bed when you want it warmed and stay out of your way when you've got other things to do. Someone who knows how to live in your world and who will accommodate her entire life to yours. In short, you want the perfect corporate wife."
    "Give me the next couple of weeks to prove that I'm willing to make a few accommodations of my own."
    Margaret's head came up sharply. "You're hardly starting out on a promising foot, are you? You're trying to blackmail me into going down to your ranch."
    He sighed. "Only because I know it's a sure-fire way to get you there. Maggie, listen to me…"
    She glared at him. "Don't call me Maggie. I never did like the way you called me that. No one else ever calls me Maggie."
    Rafe's brows rose. "Your dad does."
    "That changes nothing. I dislike being called Maggie."
    "You never said anything about it before."
    "It didn't seem worth arguing about last year. Good grief, there wasn't time to argue about it. This year is different, however. I'm not putting up with anything from you this year."
    "I see. That's too bad. I always kind'a liked Maggie."
    "I don't."
    "All right," he said soothingly, "I'll try to remember to call you Margaret."
    "You don't have to try to remember anything. You won't be around long enough to make the mistake very often."
    "You're not going to give an inch, are you?"
    "No." Margaret eyed him defiantly.
    Rafe's mouth curved faintly. "I had a feeling you were going to be like that. Which is why I went to so much effort to set this whole thing up the way I did. I need you to give me a chance to prove that I've changed. I'm only asking for two weeks."
    "You're not asking, you're demanding. That's the way you always did things, Rafe. You haven't changed at all."
    Temper flashed briefly in his eyes and was almost immediately overlaid with something far more dangerous: frustrated desire. Rafe lifted a hand to slide around the nape of Margaret's neck beneath the neat chignon of her hair. She froze.
    "How much have you changed, Maggie?" he asked softly, his mouth only inches from hers. "Do you still remember this?" He brushed his lips across hers in the lightest of caresses. "Do you still go all hot and trembly when I do this?" He caught her lower lip gently between his teeth and then released it.
    Margaret flinched from the jolt of deep longing that knifed through her. She did not move. She was not sure she could have moved if she'd tried. She was paralyzed—a rabbit confronted by a mountain lion.
    Rafe's mouth slanted across hers again and she was