Song of the West by Nora Roberts

there and tell me you’re going to make love to me? You seem to think you’re irresistible! Well, you have another thing coming—”
    â€œI’m going to remind you of that one day, Sam,” Jake said mildly as he crushed out his cigar. “Now, I think you better lie down again. You’re not quite up to sparring with me yet.”
    â€œI do not have to lie down. And I certainly don’t need you carting me around. I can manage.” She stood up, then was forced to grasp the table as the room revolved around her.
    â€œYou don’t look ready to turn cartwheels, teacher,” Jake observed as he took her arm.
    â€œI’m all right.” Her hand, which she had lifted to push him away, lay weakly on his chest for support. He tilted her chin, and he was no longer smiling. “Samantha, sometimes you have to be strong enough to let someone else take care of things. You’re going to have to hand over the reins to me for a couple of days. If you fight it, you’re only going to make it harder on yourself.”
    With a sigh, she allowed her head to fall against his chest, not protesting as his arms encircled her. “Do I have to like it?”
    â€œNot necessarily.” He gave a short laugh and lifted her easily and carried her back to bed.
    Her small spurt of energy deserted her. With an odd feeling of contentment, she settled down under the covers. She was asleep even before his lips had lightly touched her forehead in a farewell kiss. . . .
    ***
    â€œI was beginning to think you’d sleep through the night.”
    She turned her head quickly. Jake was sitting across the room, the smoke of his cigar spiraling upward, the flickering lights from the fire shooting specks of gold into his eyes. Samantha brushed the tousled hair from her face and struggled into a sitting position.
    â€œIt’s dark,” she said. “What time is it?”
    He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist and took a slow drag from his cigar. “It’s a bit past six.”
    â€œSix? I’ve slept for hours. I feel as if I’ve slept for weeks.”
    â€œYou needed it.” Tossing the stub of his cigar into the mouth of the fire, Jake rose and moved toward her. His concerned eyes roamed over her sleep-flushed cheeks and heavy eyes. Gradually, his expression lightened, the angles of his face moving into a satisfied smile. “Your color’s coming back.” He took her wrist, and her eyes dropped from his to study the dancing flames of the fire. “Pulse’s a bit jumpy.” The smile reflected in his voice. “Strong though. Hungry?”
    â€œI shouldn’t be.” She forced her eyes to meet his. “I’ve done nothing but lie around all day, but I’m starved.”
    He smiled again, lifting her without comment. She felt small and vulnerable in his arms, a sensation that was both pleasant and disturbing. She found it difficult to resist the impulse to rest her head against the strong curve of his shoulder. Instead, she concentrated on the sharp, clean lines of his profile.
    â€œI’m sure I can walk. I really feel fine.”
    â€œI doubt it.” She could feel his warm breath on her face. “Besides, you seem to fit in my arms pretty well.”
    Finding no quick comeback to this comment, she took the journey to the kitchen in silence.
    ***
    Leaning back in her chair, replete and content, Samantha sipped the cool white wine in her glass and gave Jake a nod of approval.
    â€œYou’re going to make some woman a terrific husband. You’re an outstanding cook.”
    â€œI think so.” He nodded smugly. “My wife wouldn’t have to be a gourmet cook,” he added with casual consideration. “I’d demand other qualities.”
    â€œAdoration,” Samantha suggested. “Obedience, unswerving loyalty, solicitude.”
    â€œThat’s all right for a start.”
    â€œPoor