San Antonio Rose Read Online Free

husband,” he encouraged, ignoring both her outstretched hand and obvious dismissal.
    “My husband?” She should have remembered he was a lawyer; he picked up on other people’s attempts to evade an issue.
    “The man you eloped with,” he reminded her silkily.
    “Eloped?” She shook her head in confusion. “Who told you I eloped?”
    His voice deepened to a cryptic huskiness. “I have my sources.”
    “Good for you,” she returned in kind, fighting the urge to tell him that his “sources” were either terrible liars or totally unreliable. But if she did that, she would have to tell him the rest of the story. And she definitely didn’t want to open
that
Pandora’s box.
    “How did you meet your husband?”
    “Check with your sources.”
    Rafe frowned at her flippant response. “Why didn’t you keep his name?”
    Jeannie forced herself to smile sweetly. “Am I on trial here?”
    “I’m asking the questions.”
    “I don’t have to answer them.”
    His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did he leave you, or did—”
    Her eyes smoked with anger. “That’s none of your damn business!”
    “You’re right,” he conceded reluctantly.
    “I’m so glad you agree,” she shot back.
    “The past is dead.”
    But the past wasn’t dead. It lived and breathed, laughed and cried, ran and jumped and rode with all the rough-and-tumble energy of a boy who would soon be ten. And the one who knew this lied through her teeth.
    “Yes, the past is dead.”
    “As to the future—” he began.
    Jeannie didn’t give him a chance to finish. She spun on her heels and started to stalk away. Unfortunately she didn’t get very far. Rafe came after her, grabbing her by the elbow and turning her back. She felt the sinewy pressure of his fingers through the silk of her sleeve and pulled free of his grasp. But her skin tingled with a delicious afterburn, as if it had total recall of his touch.
    “Have you set a date?” he demanded.
    “A date?” she echoed blankly.
    The curve of his lips—she couldn’t call it a real smile—caused shivers to chase along her spine. “For your wedding.”
    “Not yet.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to bite her tongue.Instead she tipped her chin and, in a voice as brittle as an icicle, said, “But I’ll be sure to send you an invitation.”
    “You do that,” he countered, his voice as challenging as the gaze he fastened on her upturned face.
    As an attorney Rafe had trained himself to step outside his own emotions and to think logically, to rein in his temper and let reason prevail. But logic proved a poor match for stormy gray eyes and satiny white skin. And reasoning simply failed him as he studied the full, velvety mouth that had given him so much pleasure and caused him so much pain.
    Jeannie stood still for his disconcerting perusal as long as she could, then she backed up a step and said stiffly, “Well, I’d better go see to my guests.”
    “Take off your hat,” he ordered with ominous softness.
    She wasn’t certain she’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
    Rafe stepped forward, forcing her to tilt her head back. Jeannie froze. His face was so close, it nearly touched hers beneath the drooping brim. The woody scent of vetiver emanated from his warm skin. Her heart—the same heart that had beat so fervently for him eleven years ago—began racing again as his blue eyes raked her over the coals of yesterday’s desire.
    She felt the rush of adrenaline through herveins, heightening her senses. After all this time he still affected her—the masculine smell of him, the Dionysian force of him. She twisted her head away, then back, her lips parting with a protest that died in her throat.
    “I want to see if your hair still catches sunlight.” Eleven years of longing vied with eleven years of loathing in his husky voice. But it was himself he hated at that moment, not her. And what he
really
wanted tingled in the space between their lips,