A Cowboy in Manhattan (7 page)

Her gaze shifted to his full lips, imagining their softness against her own.

“Katrina.” His voice was strained.

She wanted him to kiss her, desperately wanted to feel those hot lips come down on hers, his hard body press her back into the hay, his magic hands wrap around her waist, along her back, over her buttocks, down her thighs. She just knew he would take her to paradise.

“The herbal wrap,” he said.

She blinked. “Huh?”

He eased away from her. “I should put it on your ankle now, while your muscles are warmed up.”

“But…” No. That wasn’t how this was supposed to end.

“It’ll help,” he assured her.

“Reed?”

He straightened, no longer looking at her, his voice growing more distant. “I know you’re not a horse. But trust me. The principle really is the same.”

She didn’t doubt it was. But that wasn’t her problem. Her problem was that she was powerfully, ridiculously, sexually attracted to Reed Terrell, and it didn’t look like it was going away anytime soon.

Four

R
eed swung the eight-pound sledgehammer over his head, bringing it down on the wooden stake with a satisfying thump. He drove it halfway into the meadow grass, then hit it once more, anchoring it firmly into the ground. He took a step back and set down the hammer. Then he consulted his house plans, lined up the electronic transit to position the next stake before repeating the process.

An hour later, as the sun climbed across the morning sky, he stripped down to his T-shirt, tossed it aside and shaded his eyes to gaze across the flat meadow that overlooked Flash Lake into the foothills and far across to the Rockies.

He’d known for years that this would be the perfect spot. Milestone Brook babbled fifty feet from where he’d build his deck. He already knew he’d put in a footbridge, teach his sons to fish for rainbow trout and build a picnic table on the opposite side of the bridge so his family could spend Saturday afternoons eating hamburgers, playing horseshoes or badminton.

He could picture the living room. He could picture the view. He could picture six kids racing around in the yard. He could even picture his future wife chasing down a toddler. She’d be beautiful in blue jeans and boots, a cotton shirt and a Stetson.

In his mind’s eye, she turned and smiled. And he realized it was Katrina.

Reed felt as if he’d been sucker-punched.

He shook his head to clear it. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. He’d come up here today to get away from Katrina. His burgeoning attraction to her reminded him that it was past time to get going on the rest of his life. And the rest of his life sure didn’t include a tiny, blond-haired, blue-eyed ballerina.

“Reed?” Her voice startled him, and he spun around to see her crossing the meadow toward him.

She moved steadily closer. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She wore tiny diamond earrings that sparkled in the sunshine. Designer jeans clung to her hips, while a deep purple cap-sleeved T-shirt molded to her breasts, nipping in at her waist, ending just above her low waistband. Even without makeup, her lashes were thick and dark, her lips deep red, and her cheeks soft pink.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, glancing around at his work.

“What are
you
doing?”

“Walking.” She came to a halt a few feet away. “It’s a low-impact exercise.”

“I thought you were biking for that.”

“Variety,” she answered, tipping her head to one side.

He fought an urge to take a single step forward, cup her face, and drink in a deep kiss. But somehow, it seemed sacrilegious, as if he was cheating on his future wife.

She peered pointedly around. “A building site?”

“I’m staking out the foundation,” he admitted. “For my house.”

“Seriously?” She shaded her eyes to scan his work. “You’re building a house up here?”

“No. I’m building a secret military installation, with a formal dining room and a view of the lake.”

She gave an eye-roll and paced her way toward the pattern of stakes. “It’s big.”

He found himself following behind. “Four bedrooms.”

“Where’s the front door?”

“You’re standing on the porch.”

She pointed. “So, here?”

“Go on in.”

She glanced back at him to grin. “Thank you.”

“Dining room on the right,” he told her, oddly pleased to share his plans with someone. He’d designed them himself, keeping them secret from his father and everyone else. “Straight ahead takes you into the great room and the kitchen.”

“On the left?”

“Media room, then utility room. You can cut through there to the garage.”

She walked straight through the future great room toward the back of the house.

“That’ll be a breakfast nook,” he described. “There’ll be French doors here that go out onto the deck.”

“Great view,” she put in.

“Isn’t it? Master suite will have the same view.”

She gazed out at the river. “But I don’t understand.”

He stopped next to her in the position he planned for the deck railing, resting his hands in his front pockets. “I like a nice view of the lake.”

“I don’t understand the new house. What’s wrong with the old one?”

He’d made plans to build the new one before his father had died. But he saw no reason to change the plans now. “Caleb and Mandy can live there.”

“But they’re only going to be here part-time, right?”

“Probably. But they’ll want their own space. And I’ll want mine. So will my wife.”

She turned to stare at him, and her eyes went round, her tone became incredulous. “You’re getting married?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you have a secret fiancée?”

“Not yet.”

“Who?” she asked.

“I told you, not yet.”

“But who is she?”

“I don’t know.”

Katrina canted a hip to one side, while her face screwed up in puzzlement. “You’re building a house for a fiancée you haven’t yet met?”

“You got a problem with that?”

She paused. “Truthfully, I think it’s kind of sweet.”

“I was going for practical.”

“Well, you got sweet.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “I’m not sweet.”

She lifted her left ankle and twisted it in the air. “Your wrap helped.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m positive it did,” she confirmed, while his mind wandered back to their near kiss last night in the barn.

A rumble sounded in the distance, and Katrina braced her feet to the ground, turning sharply toward it.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Horses.” He listened for a moment. “Small herd.”

“Where?” She took a sideways step in his direction, her gaze darting around.

“Over the rise. Coming this way.”

They were definitely at a gallop, and Reed wondered what might have startled them. Could have been anything.

“But there’s a fence, right?” Katrina asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Between us and them?”

“Nope.”

She paled. “Nope?”

He shook his head to confirm, and she moved so close she was touching him.

The sound grew louder.

“They’re headed for the lake,” Reed reassured her.

“Are we going to be trampled?” She turned her face into his chest.

He struggled not to laugh, placing a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “No, we’re not going to be trampled. They’ll head straight downhill.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Even if they don’t, they’ll see us. They’ll go around us.”

“Are you lying? Are we about to die?”

He grasped her upper arms, putting her away from him, staring down into her eyes. “Seriously, Katrina. Calm down.”

Her eyes were wide, ice-blue with fear. “What if they’re angry?”

“They’re thirsty,” he assured her.

The herd appeared on the rise, their hooves thundering, the ground shaking. Katrina squealed and threw herself against his chest.

“See? They’re turning,” he told her.

Exactly as he’d expected, they curved around the knoll, taking the downhill route toward the lake. The dozen sleek brown, black and white bodies moved off into the distance. The sound diminished, and the ground vibrations disappeared.

Reed noticed Katrina was shaking.

“Hey.” He smoothed back her hair. “Big-city princess, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Then I’m embarrassed.”

“Okay, that’s a valid emotion.”

She socked him in the bicep with the flat of her fist. “I’m not used to horses.”

“No kidding.”

Now that she’d calmed down, he allowed himself to focus on the feel of her in his arms. She was softly curved, perfectly proportioned. The top of her head only came to his chin, but she was looking up, and if he dipped his head, tipped it on an angle, his lips would be on hers.

His hand convulsed against the small of her back. Her hips pressed against the V of his thighs. Her hands were warm where they rested against his back. And a surge of desire crested in his veins.

His gaze met hers, opaque and darkened to midnight-blue. The world stilled and paused for breath around them, the birds going silent, the wind going still; even the sound of the brook was muffled in the thickening air. His free hand rose to cup her cheek, sliding into her hairline as he dipped his head. Her sweet breath mingled with his.

“Tell me no,” he rasped. Nothing short of her genuine protest would stop him this time.

But she stayed silent, stayed pressed against him, her lips slightly parted.

He cursed under his breath and crossed those final inches that brought his lips flush against hers. The burst of passion was instantaneous, igniting every fiber of his body to a roaring need. Her lips were full, tender and hot, and they tasted like summer nectar.

He urged them apart, delving deep with his tongue, his fingers tangling in her hair, his other arm wrapping fully around her waist, pressing her tight against his intense desire.

His kiss was too hard. His hold was too tight. He lifted her easily off the ground, even as a small speck of sanity that was struggling deep inside his brain ordered him to slow it down, to let her go, to back off.

But she moaned against his mouth, the vibration setting off another chain reaction of passion. Her hands fisted into his sweat-dampened shirt, while the softness of her breasts burned an imprint into his chest.

A horse whinnied in the distance, and the sound of the brook flowed into his ears. Birds came back to life, while the breeze picked up, cooling his overheated skin.

With steely determination, he forced himself to break the kiss. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, still drinking in the feel of her soft curves.

“I’m not,” she gasped.

His body convulsed. “Don’t say that.”

“Okay.” A pause. “I won’t.”

He sucked in a couple of deep, deep breaths, forcing his hand to fall away from her cheek. Then he regretfully touched his forehead to hers. “I was out of line.”

“Why are you blaming yourself?” Her breathing was as deep as his. “There are two of us here.”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

She drew slowly back. Wisps of blond hair had worked free from her ponytail. Her lips were swollen red, cheeks flushed, eyes bedroom-soft with a sensual message. “In some circumstances, being a gentlemen is overrated.”

Reed groaned his frustration. “You’re killing me, Katrina.”

“Not exactly what I was going for.”

“You want me to kiss you again?” he demanded, knowing he couldn’t take much more of her flirtatious teasing.

“You want to kiss me again, cowboy?”

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

They stared at each other in charged silence.

“But I won’t,” he determined, gritting his teeth.

He wouldn’t, because if he kissed her again, he knew he wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t matter that the bedroom of his future house was nothing but a few stakes in the ground—he’d make passionate love to her, right here in the thick grass of the meadow. And then he’d have to build a different house, in a different location, because she’d be all he ever remembered here.

Katrina wasn’t completely without experience when it came to men.

Okay, so she was mostly without experience when it came to men. But it wasn’t her fault. She’d gone to an all-girls school until she was eighteen, graduating straight into the Liberty Ballet company. Until graduation, she’d been surrounded by girls and the few male dancers who’d participated in performances. The male dancers were nice guys, many of them fun and funny, but none of them interested her romantically.

She’d dated a little in the past year, mostly men she’d met at fundraisers or parties connected to the dance company, but nothing had ever turned into a relationship.

And then there was Quentin. But she sure wasn’t counting that. Reed’s kiss, on the other hand, she would definitely count. Quentin was a member of Liberty Ballet’s board of directors. Close to twenty years older than Katrina, he’d been dogging her since she’d become a principal dancer. Frustrated by her lack of uptake on his intense flirting, he’d finally cornered her in his office two weeks ago, forced a slobbery kiss on her mouth and baldly propositioned her. When she’d broken away, firmly telling him she wasn’t interested, he’d grown angry and threatened to destroy her career.

She didn’t know how or if he’d be able to make good on that threat. But he certainly knew the movers and shakers of the ballet world.

She ran a brush through her wet hair, gazing into the dresser mirror in the Terrells’ guest room. Odd, the differences between Quentin and Reed. Quentin was urbane, educated, fastidious and debonair. Reed was raw, passionate, assertive and unruly. But there was no contest over who she’d trust.