Hatfield and McCoy by Heather Graham

faded.
    He was following her.
    Just how mad had she made him? she wondered. And despite herself, she felt a jumping in her heart.
    She was almost home. And he was following her still. Right to her house.
    Well, she’d wanted to have a fight with him. A real, live fight.
    She wanted to vent some frustration. To hit him good.
    She just didn’t want him to hit back.
    And that annoying sizzle of heat was back, racing up and down her spine …
    She pulled off the highway, and up the long patch that led to her house. She parked in the big expanse of her front yard, slamming out of the driver’s seat to await him.
    He braked to a halt right behind her and got out.
    â€œWhat!” Julie shrieked. “You have to follow me to hand out more abuse! You are an ass, a complete fool, as hardheaded as rock. And you had no right to follow me just to argue that point. You—”
    â€œI followed you, Miss Hatfield, because you left your purse in my car!” he bellowed in return.
    â€œOh. Oh!”
    For a moment Julie just stood there, a column of fury and tension. She strode quickly to where he leaned against his car door, holding her small white leather clutch bag. “Thank you!” she snapped, taking the bag and hurrying to her front door.
    He was right behind her. She opened the door, and he followed her in.
    â€œAnd I’m an ass, am I? You tell me, Miss Hatfield, what happens when this voodoo doesn’t work? When you have people believing in you and following your every lead. Only you’re leading them down the wrong damned path?”
    â€œI don’t go down the wrong path!”
    â€œWell, just what happens if you do?” he demanded heatedly.
    He was backing her down the hallway, past the stairs to the rear wall.
    Then she was against the wall, and his hands were on her shoulders. His body was nearly touching hers; she could feel his fingers so acutely through the thin fabric of her blouse.
    â€œI don’t owe you any answers, McCoy!” she flared. “You’re in my house—and I don’t remember inviting you in!”
    He stopped, suddenly seeming to realize that he’d barged in.
    â€œI’m leaving!”
    â€œGood! Fine!”
    â€œAnd I won’t be back, Miss Hatfield. We’ve done what we were supposed to do. It’s over. I don’t have to see you again.”
    â€œAnd I don’t have to see you again. I don’t have to listen to you, I don’t have to talk to you!” Julie said.
    â€œThat’s right,” he agreed savagely. He was still touching her, though. His hands were still on her shoulders.
    He dropped them. Julie gritted her teeth.
    He turned, striding to the front door, which he opened and slammed shut behind him.
    Julie winced at the sound. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. If only her heart would stop beating so stridently. If the pulse that throbbed against her temple would slow down.
    If only the sudden …
    Emptiness, yes, emptiness …
    Would go away.
    There was a thundering on her door. She started, then yanked it open.
    He was back. McCoy was back. Tall, imposing, towering there in her doorway.
    â€œWhat—what else did I leave in your car?” she demanded.
    â€œNothing,” he said briefly.
    â€œThen?”
    He could be a bully when he wanted. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
    Julie backed up just a bit, watching him.
    He pulled off his sunglasses, and in his eyes she saw a tumult that matched her own. She swallowed, and her eyes lowered to his throat, and she saw the same pulse beating there.
    â€œThen?” She repeated softly. “What …”
    He groaned. “Then—then this!” he stated flatly. Suddenly he was reaching out, and she was drawn irrevocably into his arms. His mouth was on hers, wet, hot, open. Demanding. Parting her lips. And all the heat and electricity that had played between them suddenly met and seemed to