Wicked Burn

Vic just stared blankly at this stranger, this interloper that was moving into Niall’s apartment. He imagined that he smelled Niall’s fresh, feminine scent emanating from the open door. The sensation almost made him blind with fury. Even through his turmoil and anger in the previous month he’d never imagined her slinking away like a thief in the night, without saying a word to him.

It felt like he’d been kicked in the gut by a steel-toed boot all over again. But somehow this time seemed even worse than that evening in December.

That was when the truth hit home. There was a good chance he would never see Niall Chandler again. Niall really was too guilty to face him. And why shouldn’t she feel ashamed of herself, damn it? Hadn’t she been fucking his brains out while her husband lay sick in a hospital bed? Then her husband had miraculously improved and Niall proceeded to ignore Vic’s existence, as if he was a much regretted, drunken one-night stand.

Obviously what had occurred between them had been some kind of emotional backfire for her. It had certainly been an explosive affair from the first. Vic just hadn’t imagined where the impetus had come from on Niall’s part.

Now he knew. Niall must have been feeling lonely and bereft while her husband was so ill. That must have been the origin of her nightmares. She was beautiful, vibrant . . . passionate. Like Jenny, she just needed a man in her bed to affirm all of those things, and Vic had been a ready convenience.

Vic grimaced and flipped onto his other side. Well, he was certainly glad to have helped Niall out in a tight spot. Fucking her had been great.

So great, in fact, that she’d subsequently ruined his sex life.

“You’re as much to blame for that as her,” Vic accused himself bitterly. He expressly directed himself not to in his thoughts, but his gaze still traitorously shifted over to the shut door of his closet. The Christmas gifts that he’d never given to Niall were in there, tossed far back into the darkest reaches. Somehow, the thought of what lay wrapped up in that furiously crumpled sack and the image of Niall looking so soft and sexy in bed last night rose up in his mind like the first two integers in an equation.

His cock jerked and tightened as if it’d just been yanked by a string, like his abrupt hard-on was just as obvious a result of adding those two thoughts together as one plus one equals two.

Shit. Well at least there couldn’t be any doubt that his lack of a sex life had anything to do with equipment damage, he thought sourly. Not that he appreciated the fact that Niall was the one who almost instantly turned his cock into a steel pike.

“That damn sack is going into the lake later,” he vowed to himself.

When he realized that he was talking to himself, he sprang out of the bed. What he needed was a big breakfast, a long ride on his favorite horse, Traveler, a few good hours writing at the computer . . . and maybe a trip back to the El Paso later. Today was Saturday. Chances were that Missy would be working again tonight, he reminded himself as he turned the shower nozzle to a frigid setting.

Vic wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on the biggest question mark that kept bobbing annoyingly around his brain.

Just what the hell did Niall hope to accomplish by showing up on his farm?

Was she still interested in him, or was he just an unfortunate detail that she had to endure because of another agenda? Was she here just to take up where they’d left off? Because if she thought he was going to be her stand-in for her husband again, she definitely had another think coming. Vic despised liars and he didn’t do married women.

And he damned Niall for making him break that code without his knowledge.

Why hadn’t he just let Niall walk out the fucking door on that first night?

SIXTEEN

Andy, one of their full-time farmhands, Meg, Tim, Donny, and Niall all froze when Vic swung open the back screen door that led directly to the kitchen. He glowered at each one of them in turn, although he made a point of not making eye contact with Niall. Tim paused with a butter knife poised over some toast, Meg scowled from where she stood with a spatula in her hand by the stove, and Donny gawked at him from where he sat at the big kitchen table next to Niall.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Meg deadpanned.

He threw her an “I’ll deal with you later” look before he let the door slam shut behind him. He’d forgotten the kid was here. It didn’t seem right to make a scene in front of him. Donny had enough of that crap at home.

“Morning, Vic,” Tim greeted his brother-in-law extra cheerfully, perhaps compensating for Vic’s surly mood. Donny and Andy added their greetings, but Niall was silent. He saw from the corner of his eye, as he poured himself a cup of coffee, that Donny sat next to her and one of his sketch pads lay on the table between them.

“Where’s Tony?” Vic asked Tim as he took a sip of hot coffee, referring to Tim’s other full-time employee. The property that he’d inherited included thirty-six hundred acres of workable farmland. Tim needed several full- and part-time employees to help him run it during the planting season.

“His four-year-old is sick,” Andy answered.

“And his wife is in Pennsylvania visiting her folks,” Tim added as he set a plate of buttered toast on the table.

“You’ll need some help getting those soybeans in the ground, then,” Vic said stonily as he sat down at the end of the table farthest from Niall. He often helped on the farm, enjoying the manual labor and the feeling of accomplishment that accompanied it, even if he didn’t want to make farming his official profession. In fact, he liked to find excuses to work on his farm. He felt a real connection with the rich, black soil, a feeling just as powerful as what he felt for the stark, barren landscape of Montana where he owned a ranch. Maybe his Uncle Manny really knew what he was doing by leaving Vic his land.