Shiloh stood quietly, feeling such a deep, internal shift within herself, she couldn’t describe it. But she sure felt it. That shift was palpable, deep in her unconscious. It scared her. It liberated her. Shiloh felt . . . vulnerable. Really feeling ALL her emotions, not just some of them. It was as if she were falling, but it wasn’t frightening. It was just . . . well . . . different. And uncomfortable. But no panic, thank God. She hated when she panicked. It only happened when a man got too close to her heart.
Lifting her lashes, she held Roan’s steady gray gaze as he studied her from across the room. It was as if he realized that she’d shattered inwardly. As if . . . as if he could feel what she had just encountered. And that first rush of vulnerability sweeping through her right now, for whatever reason, was awakening her on levels she’d never before experienced. And Roan Taggart knew it.
Chapter Nine
Roan entered the employee house at nearly seven P.M. Tiredness moved through him, but it was taken away as he saw Shiloh in the kitchen, making them dinner. The house smelled good, like he was home, not just at an employee residence. Roan automatically inhaled the aromas as he shut the door and put his hat on a nearby peg.
“I’m late,” he apologized, fighting the desire to walk into the kitchen and talk with her. Since their intense discussion at his cabin a week ago, Roan had decided to back off from Shiloh. Given her past, pressuring her about moving forward in a relationship with him was put on hold. Shiloh was wearing her Levi’s and a red tank top that lovingly outlined her breasts, her red hair in a sloppy knot on top of her head. She was busy frying something in a large iron black skillet. When she turned, her smile made him go hot, made him ache so damn much for her. Hands off, he warned himself. If Shiloh wanted him, she had to come to him. Not the other way around.
“Good thing,” Shiloh teased, smiling as she placed the fried chicken into an awaiting bowl. “I got so immersed in the chapter I was writing, I lost track of time. I thought dinner was going to be late, but you’re right on time.” Shiloh felt her heart open to Roan. Since their talk, he’d been different. Maybe less available. She couldn’t pinpoint what had happened between them. He seemed to be respectful of her understanding of why she always ran from a relationship, never toward it. Grateful for Roan’s thoughtfulness, Shiloh still missed the warm intimacy they’d originally established when she first came to the ranch. “Why don’t you grab a quick shower? I still have to make us a salad.”
Nodding, Roan fought the need to walk up to her, touch her cheek, look deep into her green eyes. He now lived in a new hell of having Shiloh in the house, just a hall’s width between their bedroom doors. But he was old enough to know what not to do. Shiloh had to have time to digest their last, serious conversation. And already, he could see evidence of subtle changes in her behavior because of it. Nothing overt, nothing in-your-face. Just a sense that something deep within her had shifted. And, he hoped, for the better. Roan hoped it would lead to her allowing him into her life. “It won’t take long,” he promised, sauntering through the living room, heading down the hall toward the bathroom.
Yearning moved through her lower body as she watched Roan, dressed in a dusty pair of Levi’s and a dark green cowboy shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, walk away. How she wanted him to touch her. Hold her. The past week had been the best and worst of her life in some ways.
She put the last of the fried chicken in the bowl and set it in the oven to keep warm. Moving to the sink, she washed her hands and then pulled out all the salad ingredients. The look in Roan’s eyes told her he still wanted her. Nothing had changed. Shiloh swallowed hard because a part of her wanted him. Wanted to kiss this man who gloried in being outdoors challenging the elements and winning. There was nothing soft about Roan. Nothing. Yet, he’d been tender with her when she’d cried and he’d held her in his arms. Shiloh could not forget those moments, forever stamped on her frightened, wary heart. Could she overcome her past pattern of running when things got serious in a relationship? She didn’t know.
Later, as they sat at each other’s elbows, eating dinner, Roan detected a subtle happiness about Shiloh. Again, nothing obvious, but his operator’s senses told him that. “You said you were writing a chapter? On your latest book? The one that’s due to your editor’s desk?”
“Yes.” She shrugged. “I woke up this morning WANTING to write.” She met his gray gaze, seeing his interest. Roan, she was discovering, was a very good listener. And he listened to her without ever interrupting her flow of thought. “First time.”
“Is this a good thing?” he wondered, adding more spoonfuls of whipped potatoes onto his plate.
“Sure is,” she sighed. She spooned some green beans onto her plate. “Ever since the stalker came into my life, my writing has turned off.”
“Kind of expected?”