He propped himself on the corner of his desk and folded his arms over his chest. There was more to this than money and land; he could see it in her eyes and the set of her chin.

“I told you before, Brynnie wanted to sell,” he reminded her.

“That was Dad’s land.”

“Which he had already deeded over to her.”

Bliss took a step forward, placing herself directly in front of him and nailed him with a look that caused an uneven thumping in his chest. “You know, Mason, for years I’ve stuck up for you whenever Dad tried to pin that horseback riding accident on you.”

“Did you convince him?” he asked dryly.

“Never. But he knew what I thought.”

He lowered his gaze to the semicircle of bone at the base of her throat where there was a pulse throbbing erratically. “And what was that, Bliss?” Mason asked boldly, painfully aware that her body was placed squarely between his legs, should he close them. His throat was so dry he had trouble concentrating. “What did you think?”

She paused and her gaze shifted. “I was the one who rode out in the storm. You saved me.”

“Did I?” He wasn’t convinced. Too many years of carrying a load of guilt around.

She didn’t answer and through the frosted, pebbled glass of his door, he noticed the lights dim in the outer office. Edie had left. He was alone with Bliss. His palms began to sweat. His thighs, straddling the corner of the desk, began to ache.

“Just stay away from Dad and Brynnie, okay? Don’t cause trouble between them.”

“You want them to be together?” he asked. “Given all the circumstances, I would have thought—”

“I want my father to be happy,” she interrupted. “That’s all. He’s . . . he’s already had one heart attack.”

“Which is the reason why Brynnie sold.” He rubbed his knees with his hands and felt a tightening in his groin, the start of arousal. He should just cut the lights and escort Bliss and her air of self-righteousness out the door. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Being alone with her—so close that he could smell her skin, see the faint freckles bridging her nose, witness the sweep of her honey-brown lashes against her cheeks—was his undoing.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “They’ve been fighting about it, you know.”

“No one twisted Brynnie’s arm.”

Her eyes locked with his, and he felt a catch in his throat “What is it with you, Lafferty? What is it you have against my father?”