The Cowboy

risk.
    "I'm going to ask you again, Maggie."
    She was suddenly so light-headed she thought she might faint. "What did you say?"
    "You heard me." Rafe got to his feet and paced soundlessly across the white carpet to the window. He stood looking out into the night. "I'm prepared to give you a little time to get accustomed to the notion again. I know this is coming out of the blue for you. But I want you, Maggie. I've never stopped wanting you."
    "Is that right? I distinctly recall you telling me you never wanted to see me again."
    "I lied. To myself and to you."
    She shook her head in disbelief. "I saw the rage in you that morning. You hated me."
    "No. Never that. But I was in a rage. I admit it. I couldn't believe you'd gone straight to Moorcroft to warn him about my plans. When you didn't even bother to defend yourself, I decided I'd been had. Moorcroft was more than willing to reinforce the idea."
    "I did go straight to Moorcroft," Margaret agreed grimly. "But I was the one who'd been had. As far as I'm concerned you and Moorcroft both took advantage of me. It's one of the reasons I left the business world, Rafe. I realized I didn't have the guts for it. I couldn't handle the level of warfare. It made me sick."
    "You were too soft for that world, Maggie, love. I knew that from the first day I met you. If you'd married me, you would have been out of it."
    "Let's be honest with each other, Rafe. If I'd married you a year ago, we'd have been divorced by now."
    "No."
    "It's the truth, whether you want to admit it or not. I couldn't have tolerated your idea of marriage for long. I knew that at the time. That's why I put off giving you my answer during those two months we were together." She also knew that if the blow-up hadn't occurred, she probably would have succumbed to Rafe's pressure tactics and married him. She would have found a proposal from Rafe impossible to resist. She had been in love with him.
    Rafe glanced over his shoulder, his mouth gentling. "It might have been a little rough at times but it would have worked. I'd have made it work. This time it will work."
    Margaret squeezed her eyes shut on hot tears. Determinedly she blinked them back. When she looked at Rafe again, she saw him through a damp mist but she was fairly certain she wouldn't actually break down and cry. She must not do that. This man homed in on weakness the way a predator homed in on prey.
    "I'm surprised at you, Rafe. If you felt this strongly about the matter, why did you wait an entire year to come after me?" Margaret thought with fleeting anguish of the months she had spent hoping he would do just that before she had finally accepted reality and gotten on with her life. "It's not like you to be so slow about going after what you want."
    "I know. But in this case things were different." His shoulders moved in an uneasy, uncharacteristic gesture. "I'd never been in a situation like that before." He turned toward her and swirled the Scotch in his glass. His eyes were thoughtful when he finally raised them to meet hers. "For the first few months I couldn't even think clearly. I was a menace to everyone during the day and stayed up most of the nights trying to work myself into a state of exhaustion so I could get a couple of hours' sleep. Ask Hatcher or my mother if you want to know what I was like during that period. They all refer to it as the Dark Ages."
    "I can imagine you were a little upset at having your business plans ruined," Margaret said ironically. "There was a lot of money on the line and Moorcroft's firm cleaned up thanks to my advance warning. You lost that time around and we all know how you feel about losing."
    Rafe's gaze sparked dangerously but the flare of anger was quickly dampened. "I can handle losing. It happens. Occasionally. But I couldn't handle the fact that you'd turned traitor and I couldn't deal with the way you'd walked out without a backward glance."
    "What did you expect me to do after you told me to get out of your sight?"
    Rafe smiled bleakly. "I know. You were hardly the type to cry and tell me you were sorry or to grovel on your knees and beg me to forgive you and take you back, were you?"
    "Not bloody likely," Margaret muttered. "Not when I was the innocent victim in that mess."
    "I used to fantasize about it, you know."
    "Fantasize about what? Me pleading for your forgiveness?"
    He nodded. "I was going to let you suffer for a while; let you show me how truly sorry you were for what you'd done and