Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,70

nicer to its prospective mother.”

Wesley’s eyes flashed, and he dug his fingers into her shoulders to pull her against his heat-radiating length. “Is that a bribe or a threat?” he asked, but oddly, his voice held no menace. Something that belied his mockery was behind the question...tenderness?

Sloan’s head fell as she shivered, and she buried it into his shoulder. “Neither,” was her muffled reply. He had taken her by surprise at first, even appalled her with the suggestion of a child. But she suddenly wanted his baby very much. She loved children, and Wesley had already proved himself an excellent father with the sons and daughter of another man. He had every right in the world to a child of his own.

There was only one problem. The thought of two A.M. feedings again didn’t bother her, nor did the idea of diapers or the demanding attention needed by an infant. The problem was Wesley. She loved him, ached for him with her entire being. Yet, how could she bear his child when she knew his love for her had died along with his trust and respect?

Trust had to be earned, he had told her, and it might be a long road to winning back his trust. But as he began to stroke her hair gently as her head lay against his chest, she knew she was willing to traverse that long road.

“Would you like a fourth child, Sloan?” Wes asked her softly.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Be sure,” he said carefully. “I wouldn’t force you to have a child against your will. I’d rather you be honest with me than run behind my back and pick up another package of those pills.”

“I am being honest,” Sloan said, talking to his chest. “But would you...”

“Would I what?”

“Would you mind telling me where you’ve been for the past month?” Sloan intended her question to be bold and challenging, but fear of the possible answer added a note of pique.

Wesley laughed easily, annoying her to the core. “You mean who have I been with, don’t you?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Sloan snapped, pulling abruptly away from him to stomp across the kitchen. He had the exasperating habit of making her want to claw his eyes out, and she was desperately trying to avoid such useless behavior.

“I was in Paris for two weeks,” Wes said, straightening and ambling slowly after her. “And since then I’ve been in Kentucky. In fact,” he mused, planting hands on her shoulders while a rakish grin settled subtly into the corners of his mouth, “that’s where I came up with my idea.” He held her at arm’s length and studied her with teasing appraisal. “One of my prize mares just produced her third colt, a magnificent animal, like the ones before him. The mare is a born breeder. Just like you, my sweet. I’m sure to get a healthy, beautiful child.”

Sloan felt as if she were strangling. Blood suffused ringingly into her head with fury. “A brood mare!” she hissed, shaking his hands from her shoulders. “A brood mare!” her voice rose shrilly. “That’s what you think of me!” Her wrath was causing her teeth to shatter. “That’s just marvelous, Wes. Just marvelous! Suppose we have this child? What happens then?”

“Then we see,” he said softly.

He wasn’t fast enough to catch her hand when it flew across his face that time, and she had whirled away from him while the stinging sensation still seeped into his stunned cheek. “Go back to Paris, Wes!” she called over her shoulder as she stalked down the hall. Aware that he had made a mess of the whole thing and willing to apologize, to try to explain...“Sloan!” he called again, more sharply.

She made no reply, and he heard the lock click in the bedroom.

“Dammit!” he roared, his apology dying in his throat as she ignored him. He followed her down the hall. “Sloan, I’m talking to you! Open the damned door!”

He didn’t ask a second time; the door gave with a single lunge of his shoulder, and Sloan, seated on the bed in a dejected huddle, straightened with wide eyes as she met the thunder of his face, features as harsh and stormy as if he were about to meet the defensive line of the Green Bay Packers.

“Get away from me!” she hissed, startled and frightened. She hadn’t ignored him on purpose; she had been so preoccupied with her inner dilemma that she had really closed out everything. She jumped as