Hank frowned thoughtfully for a long moment, then shrugged. "I'm afraid I'm one of those people whose childhood was pretty unremarkable."

"What about your mother's death?" Angela asked.

Hank frowned once again. "I know it sounds terrible, but I was only five at the time. I don't have many memories of the day she died. She'd been hospitalized so much in my early childhood, she was little more than a stranger to me at the time of her death."

He looked at Angela, then back to Barbara. "I'm afraid I just don't have the kind of traumatic memories you're asking me to share."

"What about the sale of the ranch?" Angela asked, instantly making Hank regret telling her that particular information.

"Okay, you're right." He drew an audible breath. "That was a tough day," he agreed.

"Go deeper, Hank," Barbara said. "Let Angela know how you felt that day, your disappointment... your sorrow."

Lie, an inner voice commanded Hank. Make something up to satisfy Barbara, pretend that you're sharing while keeping your thoughts and emotions to yourself. And yet even while he was formulating this plan, the truth spilled out of him.

"The bank didn't just repossess everything. It held an auction, and that day was the blackest of my life." Along with his words came the black despair of that day.

He and his father had stood side by side and watched as farm equipment, furniture, livestock, all the pieces that had been their lives were bid on and sold away for a fraction of their worth.

As if it were happening at this moment in time, the same impotent anger, the same aching grief pierced through him. "Even Bandit was auctioned away." His voice was thick with emotion as he remembered seeing his beloved horse, his constant companion being led to an awaiting trailer.

He'd only felt that aching grief one other time in his life, when he'd been twenty and Sarah Washington had told him she didn't love him anymore.

"Oh Hank. How awful," Angela said, her voice filled with empathy. She leaned toward him, as if willing him to take her in his arms, as if they could find solace in each other's embrace.

"Go on," Barbara urged. "Hold each other. For the next few minutes I want you to hold each other, comfort one another's pain."

Before Hank realized how it happened, Angela was on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in the hollow of his neck.

Hank closed his eyes and responded, his arms wrapping around her. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s snuggled against his chest, her hips against his as her legs straddled him. It was a provocative position and Hank tried to distance himself from her. But it was impossible.

Her hair smelled of fresh-cut flowers and her body offered him the warmth of the sun. Barbara's presence was forgotten, the game they played was also forgotten. He refused to think, instead focused only on the pleasure of holding her in his arms: She raised her head and looked at him. "I'm sorry you lost Bandit," she said, her voice resonant with sweet sincerity. "There's nothing worse than the loss of something you love, something you cherish."

Unable to ignore his impulse, he reached up and touched a strand of hair that had managed to work itself loose from the barrette at the nape of her neck. "And I'm sorry your father was a stupid fool," he replied. "And he was, you know... to leave you behind."

"I'd like you two to continue to comfort each other for another ten minutes, then the exercise is officially over." Barbara walked to the door and smiled at them. "I'll see you this evening at dinner." She left the library.

The moment the door closed behind Barbara, Hank knew he should release Angela. The game was over for the moment. Without Barbara's presence there was no need to pretend anymore.

But at the moment, letting go of Angela seemed impossible. He wanted her warmth against him. He wanted her arms around him. He wanted them to continue to comfort each other as the wounds they'd opened slowly eased, mended as best they could.

As Hank gazed at the woman he held in his arms, he realized he didn't intend to release her until he did one more thing. It was stupid, it was crazy, but he wouldn't be deterred by anything as ridiculous as good sense.

He drew in a breath, then captured her lips with his own.

Chapter Five.

Amazing...how lips that appeared thin and unwelcoming could in reality be so soft, taste so good. Initially, the kiss lingered softly...a tentative touch of lips against lips. However, it wasn't long before that wasn't enough.

Hank touched his tongue to hers. Desire roared through him like a flash fire as she opened her mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

She tasted of innocence and simmering sensuality, an intoxicating combination that shot straight to his head. He drank of her, loving her taste.

He felt a thundering heartbeat, but didn't know if it was hers or his own. Rubbing his hands up her back, he felt how delicate she was and a fierce uncharacteristic protectiveness rose up inside him.

She arched her back beneath his caress, like a cat enjoying and encouraging the warmth of a stroking hand. As she arched, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his chest, as if taunting him to touch, to explore their fullness beneath the cotton material that covered them. He hesitated, afraid of his need, afraid he'd frighten her away.

Then he knew the heartbeat was his own, loudly pounding the rhythm of want, of need. He was vaguely aware of the sound of their breathing, short and sharp as their tongues warred and their mouths remained locked together.

He reached up behind her, grasped the barrette that held her hair and fumbled with it until the clasp released and her thick curls spilled into his hands.

The moment her hair was freed, she pulled her mouth from his and stumbled to her feet. "Why... why did you do that?" she asked, her voice weak and breathless.

She bent and picked up the barrette from where it had fallen to the floor. He noticed that her hands trembled and her cheeks were stained a vivid pink.

"Do what?" he asked inanely, trying to gain time to get himself under control, to get the sweet taste of her out of his mouth. He was stunned by his reaction to the kiss, dazed by the depths of his desire.

"Kiss me. Why did you kiss me?" She didn't look at him, but instead stared just past him as her hands worked to gather her hair and refasten the barrette.

He shrugged. "If you didn't like it, then why did you kiss me back?"

Her cheeks flushed deeper in hue and he noticed that her hands still shook as she finished with her hair. "I didn't say that I didn't like it. I just asked why you did it."

Hank stood and raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted truthfully. "It just seemed like the thing to do at the time. I'm sorry. I was way out of line." It was the first time in his life he could ever remember feeling the need to apologize for a kiss.

"It's all right," she conceded, her gaze finally meeting his. She smiled tightly. "You just took me by surprise. You didn't mention kissing as part of my job description."

He drew a deep breath, needing his heartbeat to slow, his breathing to return to a more normal pace. "Don't worry, I promise it won't be a part of your normal, usual job."

He raked a hand through his hair, still unsteady. "Look, we've got a couple of hours before dinner. Why don't we take a drive into Mustang, check out the local color?" Maybe a couple hours away from this ranch, away from Brody and Barbara would put things back in their perspective.

At the moment Hank felt slightly off-kilter, a little woozy around the edges. The confession time with Angela, followed by the surprisingly s.e.xy kiss had momentarily disoriented him.

For just a moment he'd forgotten that the woman he held, the woman he kissed was his secretary, mousy little Angela.

For just a moment, as he'd held her in his arms, her features had lit with an inner glow that had made her appear distractingly attractive.

He didn't want to think of her as pretty, and he d.a.m.ned straight didn't want to think of her as a s.e.xy woman, or one he desired.

He needed her as his secretary. He couldn't afford to complicate things with her and wind up losing her in all capacities.

"Maybe we could get a cup of coffee, kick around some ideas for the Martindale account." It was a shameless ploy to get things back on track between them.

"Really?" She eyed him dubiously. "You'll let me help on the Martindale account?"

"Sure." He opened the library door, feeling as if he needed fresh air to clear his head.

"Okay. Just let me grab my purse from the room." While Angela ran to the room for her purse, Hank stepped out on the front veranda to wait for her.

He wasn't sure what it was about the kiss he'd shared with her that bothered him so much. It hadn't been a long kiss, at least not by his usual standard.

Still, electrical pulses had leaped through his veins as his mouth had covered hers. His breathing had quickened and his body had responded instantaneously, as if preparing him for a bout of pa.s.sionate lovemaking.

He drew in a deep breath, adrenaline surging as if he'd just faced a life or death kind of crisis. It had been crazy. A momentary flirt with insanity. He'd definitely have to be more careful for the remainder of the week. Somehow the exercise Barbara had them do had made him vulnerable... needy.

Angela's comfort, her intimate nearness, had touched his heart in areas he'd never bared before. Her sweet embrace had made him want more of her and for a moment he'd lost touch with reality and instead had plunged into the fantasy he and Angela had created. For a single, solitary moment, he'd almost felt as if he were married to her.

He saw Brody in the distance, talking on a cellular phone while he oiled a harness. Brody waved, and Hank waved back, wishing he hadn't gotten himself into this mess. He should have just told Brody the truth, but instead he'd come up with a plan that suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea.

He walked out to where Brody was working and told him that he and Angela were taking a ride into town.

As he walked back to the porch, Hank again reminded himself that he definitely had to be more careful. The last thing he wanted was for the lines between reality and fantasy to somehow become blurred.

Angela grabbed her purse from the dresser, then paused to stare at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were pink and her lips looked red and swollen. She touched her lips, remembering Hank's kiss. Warmth flooded through her as she remembered those moments when his lips had claimed hers.

It had been her first, true adult kiss, and the power of it had stolen not only her breath, but her sense as well. She'd been mindless beneath his mastery, stunned with the desire that soared through her.

If he'd wanted, he could have had her right there, in the middle of the library floor. He could have made love to her and she would have done nothing to stop him, rather she would have actively encouraged him.

Her cheeks flamed with renewed warmth and she turned away from the mirror. It was Barbara's fault. The crazy exercise of talking about good and bad times, of sharing happy and painful moments, had done exactly what it was supposed to do... created a bond, an intimacy that would enrich the relationship of the two people involved.

But, she and Hank weren't involved, and there was no relationship, other than boss and secretary. She couldn't forget that.

So, why had he kissed her? Barbara hadn't been in the room, there had been no need to carry the pretense of their marriage any further. He'd said it just seemed like the thing to do. She knew the smartest thing she could do at the moment was forget the kiss ever took place.

A few minutes later she met him on the porch, emotions firmly in check. "Ready," she announced.

"I saw Brody just a moment ago," he said as they walked to the gra.s.sy area near the detached garage where his car was parked. "I told him we wouldn't be back for dinner, that we would get something to eat in town."

She looked at him in surprise. "Okay," she agreed.

"I did tell him we'd be back in time for the evening session." Hank opened the pa.s.senger car door for her.

She slid into the car, wondering what had made him decide that they would eat in town. Maybe he felt the need to be with other people...people besides the ones they were trying to fool.

She felt the same kind of need, the desire to distance herself from him, to remember that she was his secretary and nothing more. She'd be a fool to entertain any other thoughts to the contrary. She couldn't forget that she wasn't the type of woman Hank dated.

"It's a beautiful day," she said as Hank turned out of Brody's driveway and onto the road that would take them into Mustang.

"Gorgeous," he agreed. "Although it won't be long and winter will be here. I sure wouldn't want to live out here when the snow starts to fly."

"Why not?" she asked as she looked out across the wide expanse of pasture that surrounded them.

"The winters are hard here, below freezing temperatures, heavy snowfalls. I'm sure a lot of times these people are prisoners in their homes, held captive by the elements."

"I don't know, I think the idea of being s...o...b..und sounds pretty romantic." Angela could imagine a roaring fire in a stone fireplace warming the interior of a little farmhouse while outside a blanket of snow and ice covered the earth. It was easy to envision making love beneath a cozy patchwork quilt in front of the fire.

"How like a woman," Hank replied dryly, "to like the idea of trapping a man into spending quality time with her by praying for a blizzard."

It was the kind of chauvinistic, s.e.xist remark that always raised the hackles on Angela's back. She was almost grateful to him for reminding her that there was a small part of Hank Riverton she didn't like very much.

"I imagine that particular fantasy isn't exclusive to females," she returned evenly. "I'm sure there are plenty of males who fantasize being s...o...b..und with some big-breasted blond bimbo who will fulfill their every need."

"You're right," he conceded with a grin. "I suppose I can see certain advantages to being s...o...b..und for a day or two with somebody like that."

"Yeah, as long as all your needs are in the lower half of your body, you'd be fine," Angela retorted.

Hank laughed, a deep rumble of pleasure. "I can't get over you. At the office you never showed this impudent side. I had no idea you had such a good sense of humor, such a quick mind."

Warm pleasure overtook her at his words. For the past two years that she'd worked for him, she'd known how invisible she was to him.

Surely after this week when they returned to their regular schedule, their relationship as boss and secretary would be subtly changed for the better. Maybe she wouldn't have to seek another job after all. Perhaps this little shared ruse was a blessing in disguise.

For a few minutes they were silent. It was a comfortable silence. Angela enjoyed the pastoral scenery, felt her body relaxing as a direct result of the peaceful surrounding.

Hank slowed his speed as they reached the edge of town. "Brody said the diner on Main is a good place to eat," he said as he turned down Main Street. "He said they have the best pie in the entire state."

"I'll bet it won't be long before he has the diner owner talked into serving Robinson's biscuits for breakfast."

Hank grinned. "It's already a done deal. He gave them a month's free supply of biscuits in order to induce them to try them. Then, when they were renovating the house, he paid the workers extra every morning to go to the diner, order the biscuits and rave about them."

Angela laughed. "Brody is one slick businessman."

Hank pulled the car into a parking s.p.a.ce in front of the Mustang Diner. He turned off the engine, then turned to look at Angela. "Angela... about that kiss..." he began, his features radiating awkwardness.

"Stop right there." She held up a hand to him. She knew he felt the need to tell her the kiss didn't mean anything and it irritated her that he thought his kiss so potent that it might make her think he actually cared about her.

"Honestly Hank, you don't have to worry about it. On a scale of one to ten, it wasn't much more than a six. Besides, you aren't my type at all." Before he could reply, she opened the door and got out of the car.

He said nothing to her as they walked to the back of the diner and slid into a booth. She opened a menu and gazed at the selections, but felt his gaze focused solely on her. She looked at him. "What?" she asked.

"A six? You thought it was no more than a six?" He looked at her incredulously.

Angela bit back a burst of laughter, realizing she'd shot an arrow and deflated his ego. "It can't be any more than a six without real emotion behind it."

"Who told you that?"

"It's my scale. I make the rules."

"Your scale stinks," he replied as he slapped open a menu. "It was at least a nine no matter how you cut it. And what do you mean, I'm not your type?"