Running from London, England, her overbearing father, and an arranged marriage, Neela Singh seeks shelter on Travis Kincaid's ranch in Arizona. The cowboy is even bigger and sexier than the man she remembered-and loved-from her youth. Now if he could only see her for the woman she is, not who he believes her to be.

Travis can't keep his eyes-or hands-off of Neela. As much as he detests her pampered princess' upbringing, there's something sweet about her that draws him. And once he's tasted her, there's no stopping his desire for her.

"We need to talk."

Neela jumped at Travis' deep voice, almost dropping the milk. After carefully setting the glass on the counter, she turned toward the doorway to the living room, to face a man who she didn't know anymore.

She nodded for him to continue, realizing that she'd been waiting for this moment. Even if he hadn't said it outright before, she knew she wasn't welcome in his home. He'd made it more than clear. But she had no idea why.

Travis stood with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his faded blue jeans that hugged his thickly muscled thighs and cupped his sex like a loving hand. His white T-shirt pulled snug across his impressively detailed pecs, flat stomach and well-defined biceps. The soft cotton contrasted with his golden tan. His booted ankles were crossed in a stance of nonchalance. But his eyes, midnight blue eyes that had once danced with humor and mischief, now looked as cold as an arctic night.

Was it her in particular, or had he hardened so much against all women after losing his wife?

"You look exhausted," he muttered. But then his voice grew stronger. "Caring for three rambunctious boys can be taxing. If you're not up for it, you're welcome to leave at any time."

She swallowed. "It's jetlag. I'll be fine in the morning. I wouldn't leave you without someone to care for the boys."

His gaze roamed over her from head to toe then back again. There was no doubt that her presence displeased him. His eyes narrowed and his jaw set even tighter than it had been all through dinner.

He pushed away from the wall and stalked toward her. She stood her ground, refusing to cower under his dark glare as he paused mere inches from her. So close she could smell the masculine soap he'd used when he showered before supper. The slight hint of coffee on his breath.

"Why the hell are you here?" The question was growled, a low rumble from his chest. His gaze bore into her, making her want to squirm.

With her chin raised and her spine rigid, she said, "Because I wanted a break. When my mother called Carol about me coming for a visit, she said she could use the help. That you needed the help."

"A break from what, Princess? What do you do that you'd need a vacation from? Spending your daddy's money? The Greek Isles get boring? Paris not to your liking this time of year?"

The arrogant bastard. She hadn't traveled away from her father's home in four years. Travis really thought she was a spoiled, pampered princess, didn't he? Well, the jerk could think of her what he wished. She knew what she was. If he couldn't see past the tabloid rumors and lies about a life she'd left behind years ago, that was his problem.

She gave an elegant sniff and lifted her chin even higher, looking down her nose at him. It wasn't difficult. With her height of five foot ten, he only stood a couple inches taller than she did. "For your information, Paris should be seen in the fall, not in the heat of summer. And the Greek Isles have always bored me."

His lip curled in a sneer. "Then what is it you're taking a break from?"

She'd never tell him. It was absolutely none of his business what her father had planned. By the look on his face, she doubted he'd be sympathetic. And if he learned she was hiding out, on the run from trouble that could show up on his doorstep, wouldn't that prompt him to throw her out sooner?

"Oh, you know. Life on the estate becomes so...staid." She shrugged and flashed her trademark, camera-ready smile. "Besides, it'd been so long since I was here. I thought it would be fun, exciting, to be back on the ranch."

His eyes narrowed to slits. As close as he was standing, she couldn't help but admire the tiny lines that formed beside his eyes. How his face had changed over the years, become more rugged, manlier. He was forty years old, and the years had done nothing but add character to his features. A sexiness that stole her breath. She'd been around perfectly honed male models for several years, yet none of them could even come close to Travis' absolute masculinity.

His hand cupped the side of her neck beneath her hair. His flesh was rough, work-hardened. Her heartbeat sped up, and her skin tingled where he touched. His gaze lowered to the front of her blouse. Her nipples puckered and ached at his intense stare.

Damn her body's betrayal. If there was one thing for certain, Travis Kincaid was not interested in her. He'd made it abundantly clear over the past few hours that he detested her. She wanted to pull away from his warm touch, but she couldn't move. He'd snared her with that one touch as if he'd hogtied her.

When his eyes lifted, they were even darker. "So, you're looking for a little excitement?"

Mind and body waged war with each other. He spoke the words in a seductive murmur that rekindled a desire she hadn't felt for any man in years. But he didn't mean what he said. He was angry. At her. Though she still didn't know why, she wasn't naïve enough to believe he was truly interested in her sexually. Yet, that didn't stop her body from longing for what she knew she'd never have.

He leaned in closer, his mouth scant inches from hers. His fingers twined in the hair at her nape, anchoring her in place, not that she had any intention of moving. For so many years she'd fantasized about him touching her. His lips taking and giving her pleasure. She fisted her hands at her sides and waited, fighting the urge to fall against his chest and plant her mouth against his.

When his lips grazed her cheek, she shivered in response and bit back a small moan clawing at her throat. He smelled so good. Clean soap and pure male musk. Her fingers itched to explore his chest. To feel the resiliency of his muscles. To run through his thick, dark hair.

"If excitement is all you want," he whispered, his lips teasing her ear. "I'm more than willing to oblige."

A small sound slipped from her as her eyelids drifted shut. Her breasts tingled, grew heavy. Between her thighs she was hot and achy. Needy.

"But I'm not one of your jet-setting playboys, Princess. I'm just a poor rancher." His tongue teased her ear. His teeth nipped at her lobe.

She whimpered. Heat radiated off him in waves. She wanted to be wrapped in that heat. Held tight against his massive chest.

"No candles and roses, diamonds or emeralds," he said, though she barely heard, so lost in the renewal of her sexual self, a woman she'd thought long dead. "No trips to the Ivory Coast or Monte Carlo."

She brought her hands up to his chest and flexed her fingers against his tensed muscles. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. His mouth teased her and sent bolts of pleasure arcing down her body, straight to her core where she needed his touch the most.

"How could someone like me pass up the chance to fuck a supermodel? Give her the thrill of a little raunch before she goes running home to Daddy?"