Page 25 of Conail

"After you," he muttered.

She stepped inside, the warmth of the cabin a stark contrast to the chilly night. He closed the door behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the silence.

Finding the switch, he turned it on and light flooded the single rustic room, chasing away the shadows. It was situated at the edge of their land and often served as a home for men who had previously worked the farm. Even though it had been unoccupied for several years, Colin had seen to it that it was kept clean and the fireplace stacked with firewood. Bending to the task, he found the matches and started a fire.

Watching the wood blaze, he turned to face her, expression grim. He could recognize that beneath the anger the green-eyedmonster had struck. He had seen the way Steve touched her, and he had to stop himself from eviscerating the man. And it had brought back some very unpleasant and painful memories.

"Is it that easy for you?" he asked stonily as he stared at her. "To just allow a random guy to paw at you like that?"

"Go to hell," she whispered, turning her back on him. She had gone to the bar out of sheer misery. After the incident in the barn, she had honestly thought they were getting somewhere, only to discover that he had gone on a date with Bella. Desperation and the need to take her mind off him had sent her out of the house tonight. She never expected to see him there.

"I'm there." He had come up behind her. He did not want to touch her – who the hell was he kidding? He wanted to sink himself into her until he was stuck and that was the problem. Clamping his hands on her shoulders, he spun her around.

She fought him – the tears were on her cheeks, and she looked vulnerable, yet enraged. He held on, hauling her up against him. Turning her head away when he bent his, she only managed to graze her cheek with his lips. The scent of her, the feel of her silky skin against his mouth almost had his knees buckling. Shewas still struggling. Solving the problem, he wrapped a hand around her waist to hold her still. With his other hand, he tilted her chin up, fingers pinching the flesh.

"You're making me crazy," he groaned. "I could not bear to see another man's hands on you. I wanted to kill him. I want to kill that son of a bitch you were with in Chicago." Before she could respond, he crushed her lips with his, hands like steel bands around her waist. She gave up the struggle and with a moan, succumbed to the passion raging inside her body.

*****

The rose and gold suite had her gawking despite her resolve to appear sophisticated and worldly. She could not help it. In fact, as soon as they swept through the wrought iron gate of the stately white building, she could not stop staring. Palm trees decorated both sides of the sweeping driveway that was almost a mile long. Pink and white roses bloomed in abundance and a stately and obviously expensive fountain spewed forth water into a large delicate looking basin.

The foyer was lofty, the ceiling high and intricately carved. Water silk wallpaper decorated the walls. A sweeping staircase with gleaming parquet steps led up to the bedrooms.

"I'll give you the tour another day," she was assured by Eleanor as the woman dismissed the buxom looking housekeeper and led her to her suite.

"Really Eleanor, you did not have to do this."

"Oh yes, I have to." When she pushed open the door, Yasmine was left speechless. "I hope you'll be comfortable here."

"Comfortable?" Yasmine turned a circle on the board floor in order to see everything. "I might not want to leave."

Eleanor chuckled softly and reserved her opinion. "Make yourself at home. I'll have Margaret bring you up some tea and soup." She gave Yasmine a concerned look. "How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly well."

"Good. I'll leave you to rest." She withdrew and closed the doors behind her.

Yasmine explored. It was a lovely home, not ostentatious, but elegant with furnishings she knew cost a hell of a lot of money. The bed was on a dais and was a king sized one, with towering bed posts. The headboard was solid mahogany. All the furniture in the room looked oversized. The armoire was massive and so was the dresser. A fireplace – a real one – took up one side of the wall.

The pocket doors of a huge closet were thrown open and to her delight, there were revolving shelves and a vanity in the middle.

The bathroom was a dream. A claw footed bath stood in the middle of the rose and gold floor. A shower took up one side of the wall and could fit six people easily. Jet sprays hung on hooks and the double sink had overhead recessed lights.

Stepping from the bathroom, she pulled the double glass doors and stepped out on a balcony strewn with dull gold sofas and a beautifully carved table in the middle of the floor. Here, money whispered and sent a definite message. Yasmine wondered briefly what it must be like to have so much of it and live like this.

Shaking her head, she leaned against the rail and inhaled the scent of flowers blooming. The air was crisp and clean, the brushes already dewy with moisture from the rain that had fallen earlier. When her mother had suggested she come here, she had objected at first, but now, she was happy she came. She was definitely going to take advantage of the royal treatment she was getting.

Chapter 8

By the end of the first trimester, she ended up stuck in bed with feeding tubes. And the power of an immense amount of money meant she did not have to go to the hospital. Everything was done at Eleanor's elegant townhouse. The doctor and nurse came diligently to check on her and limited her visitors to two a day.

"Your blood pressure is getting to be a problem. I have a feeling it has to do with the intense nausea."

"What's the medical term? Hyperemesis gravidarum. See? I managed to say it without twisting my tongue."

Dr. Manning's lips twitched in spite of the gravity of the situation. The woman had a wonderful sense of humor and never complained.

"I would like you to relax, and I mean remain horizontal, flat on your back with your head pillowed by all these wonderfulpillows and not think about anything more strenuous than the weather." She glanced out the window at the snow coming down. The weather report had called for a white Christmas, and they had been on the ball for once. It wasn't the sticking kind, which meant it was not cold enough yet.

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