The Pirate & The Adventurer & The Cowboy

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 thoroughly confused by the unexpected tenderness of his kiss. His fingers stroked her nape, feather-light against her sensitive skin. A tremor sizzled along her nerve endings. She shivered.

    "Yeah, you still do, don't you? I've been thinking about this for the past year," Rafe muttered. "One whole year, damn you. Every night and every day. There were times when I thought I'd go clear out of my mind with wanting you. How could you do that to me, Maggie?"

    She was shaken by the bleak depths in his voice. "If it was the sex you missed, I'm sure there must have been someone around to give you what you wanted."

    "No," he stated harshly. "There was no one. There hasn't been anyone since you, Maggie."

    She stared up at him in shock. When he finally had found time for bed, Rafe had proved himself to be a deeply sensual man. She remembered that much quite vividly. "I don't believe you."

    "Believe it," he growled as his mouth grazed hers one more time. "God knows I do. I had to live through every night alone and it nearly drove me crazy."

    "Rafe, you can't walk back in here after a whole year and do this to me," Margaret said desperately. "I won't let you."

    "Let me stay tonight."

    "No."

    He drew back slightly, releasing her. "I had a hunch you'd say that but I had to ask. Don't worry about it, I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer."

    "You'll wait until hell freezes over," she said crisply. "You've said what you had to say, Rafe. Now leave."

    He hesitated briefly. Then he nodded and picked up his hat. He jammed it down low over his glittering eyes. As he reached for his jacket, he glanced at the airline ticket he'd left on the table. "Next Monday. The eight o'clock flight."

    "I won't be on it."

    "Please."

    Margaret's mouth fell open in amazement. "What did you say?"

    "I said
please
. Please be on the eight o'clock flight. Come to Arizona to talk to the woman who will probably be marrying your father. Come to Arizona to find