The Pirate & The Adventurer & The Cowboy

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 then I was going to be real generous and take you back."

    "On your terms, of course."

    "Naturally."

    "It's a good thing you didn't hold your breath, isn't it?"

    "Yeah, I'd have passed out real quick because you sure as hell never came running back to me. At first I assumed that was because you'd gone back to your affair with Moorcroft."

    "Damn you, there never was any affair with Moorcroft."

    "I know, I know." He held up a hand to cut off her angry protest. "But I couldn't be certain at the time and I could hardly call up Moorcroft and ask, could I? He'd have laughed himself sick."

    "It would have served you right."

    "My pride was already in shreds. I wasn't about to let Jack Moorcroft stomp all over it."

    "Of course not. Your pride had been a lot more important than whatever it was we had together, hadn't it?"

    He turned to face her. "I'm here tonight, aren't I? Doesn't that say something about my priorities?"

    She eyed him warily. "It says you're up to something. That's all it says. And I don't want any part of it. I learned my lesson a year ago, Rafe. Only a fool gets burned twice."

    "Give me a chance to win you back, Maggie. That's all I'm asking."

    "No," she said, not even pausing to think about her response. There was only one safe answer.

    He watched her for a moment and Margaret didn't like the look in his eyes. She'd seen it before and she knew what it meant. Rafe was running through his options, picking and choosing his weapons, analyzing the best way to stage his next assault. When he moved casually back to the white chair and sat down, Margaret instinctively tensed.

    "You really are afraid of me, aren't you, Maggie, love?"

    "Yes," she admitted starkly. "You can be an extremely ruthless man and I don't know what you've got up your sleeve."

    "Well, it's true there are a few things you don't know yet," Rafe said softly.

    "I don't want to know them."

    "You will."

    "All I want is for you to leave."

    "I told you when you opened the door tonight that you don't have to be afraid of me."

    "I'm not afraid of you. But I have