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The possessive sound of his voice made her blood thunder in her ears and the moist warm heat from his swollen lips ignited her skin. She ached to be a part of him. The void within her yearned to be filled with the depth of his passion. She began to yield with the persuasive touch of his hands on her buttocks.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded. Heavy-lidded eyes held hers in a heated gaze that promised a lifetime of love. If only she could believe those eyes.

“Forever,” she whispered, pushing aside her doubts and letting herself become swept up in the tide of rising passion. She felt the weight of his body as he shifted to part her legs and claim once again what had always been his.

* * *

Sunday afternoon came far too quickly. Isolated in the cozy mountain cabin, Becca had felt secluded from the rest of the world. She had forced herself to forget the pain of the past and the brutal anger of her argument with Brig concerning Gypsy Wind. Now it was time to face the truth and unwrap the shielding cocoon of false security she had willingly used to cover herself from the pain of past deceits.

From her vantage point in the kitchen, she could look out the window and see Brig. He was sitting on the porch steps, gazing intently across the valley floor. He rested his elbows on his knees and cradled a cup of steaming coffee in his hands. His wavy hair was rumpled, and despite the fact that he had shaved earlier, already there was evidence of his beard darkening his hard jawline. He squinted past the rising fog and his breath misted in the crisp autumn air.

He must have heard her footsteps as she approached. Though he didn’t turn his head to look in her direction, he spoke. His eyes remained distant. “You’ve come to tell me that it’s time you left,” he stated flatly.

She sat down next to him, wedging her body between his and one of the strong supports for the roof. “We can’t hide up here forever.” She huddled her arms around her torso. Though wearing a moss-colored bulky knit sweater, the chill in the air made her shiver.

“I suppose not.” Again his voice was toneless. He took a long scalding sip of his coffee.

“It would be nice to spend the rest of our lives up here,” she mused aloud while watching the flight of ducks heading southward.

“But impractical.”

“And irresponsible.”

His mouth quirked downward. “That’s right, isn’t it? We both have pressing responsibilities.”

She tilted her head and studied his features. This morning he seemed suddenly cold and distant. “Is something wrong?”

“What could be wrong?”

“I don’t know . . . but you look as if something’s bothering you.”

“Any guesses as to what it might be?”

Her smile faded. “Gypsy Wind.”

“That’s a good start.” Brig’s lips compressed into a tight, uncompromising line.

Becca’s heart missed a beat. “What do you want to do with her?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” she repeated.

“I don’t want you to race her, Becca. I don’t want you to go through all of that pain again.”

“A race doesn’t have to end in pain and death.”

“You’re tempting fate.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense. I’ve never thought of you as a man who put stock in fate or destiny, or whatever else you might call it.”

“Not usually. But we’re not dealing with a usual set of circumstances here.” He set his cup down and grabbed her by the shoulders as if he intended to shake some sense into her. “Damn it, Becca. You don’t have to prove anything to me or the rest of the world. There’s no need to try and purge yourself of this thing.”

“I’m not,” she argued, her face tilted defiantly. “I’m only attempting to do what any respectable breeder would if he were in my shoes. I’m trying to race the finest filly ever bred.”

“Forget it!”

Becca’s anger flashed in her eyes like green lightning. Her fingers dug into her ribs. “Just what is it you expect me to do?”