Kiss of an Angel (7 page)

“Yeah,” Kirk agreed. “Let’s get moving so we can tell the other guys the search is off.”

J.T. nodded, checking the saddle and the girth before he helped Caitlan mount Quinn. “As soon as we get back to the main house I’ll be driving Caitlan back to Parson’s.”

Kirk’s horse danced impatiently, chomping at the bit to go. “Uh, that’s not going to be possible,” he said uneasily.

A sense of foreboding settled on J.T. “Excuse me?”

Kirk took an audible breath, clearly uncomfortable being the one to impart bad news. “She won’t be going back to Parson’s anytime soon—at least another week or two. The bridge over the American River was heavily damaged in the storm. It isn’t safe for crossing.”

“What the hell do you mean, the bridge was damaged in the storm?” J.T. bellowed, unable to believe this newest turn of events. Quinn, startled by his master’s sudden rage, flattened back his ears and shied away. “That’s impossible,” he said in a softer tone, soothing the horse with a gentle caress. “That bridge is built like a fortress!”

“Was,” Kirk corrected, then shrugged. “It’s one of those freak things that happens, I guess. From what we hear, even Hugh Parson and the county engineers can’t figure it out. With ordering all the materials and getting a crew out this way, they’re figuring a couple of weeks to reconstruct it.”

J.T. glanced at Caitlan, scowling at her expression. She was actually smiling! Didn’t she understand the implications of what was being said? Two weeks, echoed through his mind, taunting him with the realization that she’d be underfoot on his ranch. Fourteen days of seeing her and trying to curb this overwhelming attraction to her. Hell.

“You realize, don’t you,” he began succinctly, impaling her with a steady gaze, “that you won’t be going back to Parson’s Dude Ranch anytime soon.”

She had the grace to look a little worried. “You did say the bridge is the only way over.”

“Exactly. The bridge or eight miles of rough, rocky,
vertical
terrain, and I’m not about to endanger one of my valuable horses, or myself, to take you back.” For a moment she seemed almost glad, relieved even, that the bridge had collapsed. Irritation coiled in him, bunching the muscles across his shoulders. “You’re stuck here, Caitlan.” And that was the very last thing he wanted or needed.

“I guess it’s my own fault,” she said softly, moving toward him and Quinn. She stroked the horse’s nose and received a gentle, appreciative nuzzling in return. “I’ll just have to make the best of things, won’t I?”

J.T. was grateful his men had started ahead and were far enough away so they couldn’t hear his conversation with Caitlan. “This is a working ranch, Caitlan. Don’t expect guided tours. In fact, I’d prefer you stay off my horses. I don’t want to be responsible if you should get lost again.”

“I won’t go off on my own, I promise.” She gave him an upswept glance that had his gut tightening. “In fact, I’d love to go out with you sometime, just to see how a working ranch operates.”

“Absolutely not.  I don’t have time to baby-sit.”

Exasperation sparkled in her eyes. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

Oh, he’d know. He’d
feel
her presence,
smell
her light feminine scent that did crazy things to his body. “No.”

J.T. watched Quinn brush his nose against Caitlan’s cheek affectionately, wanting more of her attention. What a pushover his horse was, he thought. What was it about her that so totally captivated everyone, himself included?

“This isn’t a private retreat,” he went on, before he gave in to the temptation in those violet eyes. “It’s dangerous out here, and I won’t have you distracting my men or disrupting their work because you want to tag along.”

Caitlan wisely kept quiet, even though she wanted to argue. Her job was to stay near him, but how could she accomplish that when he was so adamant about keeping her at a distance? He didn’t seem to care that his life was in jeopardy. Well, she could be just as stubborn as he, and even if she had to face his wrath, she’d be by his side, or close to it, until her mission was accomplished.

J.T. knew he couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer. Time to get the show on the road. “Mount up, Caitlan.” He moved out of the way so she could use the stirrups.

She shook her head. “Oh, no, really, J.T., you should ride Quinn. I’ll walk.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be sitting right behind you.”

She glanced from the saddle to him. Shock enveloped her face and her eyes widened in comprehension. “We can’t both ride on him—”

“We can and we will.” She opened her mouth to say something, and he grabbed her arm  and pulled her toward the saddle, cutting off her words. “You really know how to try my patience, Caitlan. This is an order, not a polite request. Now get up on Quinn or I’ll put you there myself.” Letting go of her, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

She shot him a disgruntled look. “Mount up,” she mimicked in a huff. Shoving her boot into the stirrup, she hoisted herself up into the leather saddle. “I’ve never met anyone so bossy as you!” she said, glaring down at him.

There was something infinitely sexy about this woman in a temper, her eyes snapping with anger. “Get used to it,” he replied, and in one smooth, fluid motion settled himself in the saddle behind her.

She gasped softly as he shifted into a more comfortable position—if one was possible under the circumstances. Her bottom nestled into the crux of his hard, tense thighs. She leaned forward—to keep her back from pressing into his chest, he guessed—but it only caused her to become more intimate with the fly of his jeans and the growing arousal that would be more pain than pleasure in a matter of seconds, when he spurred Quinn into a gallop.

“Be still,” he said roughly into her ear. Doubts about this brilliant idea of his settled over him. He swore under his breath.
Two weeks
. He’d die from sexual frustration before
one
week was out.

With a barely perceptible tug on the reins he urged Quinn forward, eager to be on their way. The swaying motion of the horse’s first few steps rocked Caitlan closer to him, tighter, until not even a whisper could slip between their wedged bodies. Until he knew she felt the proof of his desire for her.

Her breath caught again, a soft intake of air that was more provocative than anything J.T. had heard in a long time. Like one of those delicate sounds a woman makes when she’s on the precipice of pleasure ...

“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” she said.

He didn’t think so, either, but he wasn’t about to admit it to her. “We don’t have a choice. I’m not walking, and I sure as hell am not going to saunter along on Quinn while you do. Just hang on and well be at the house soon.”

Before she could protest his actions, he anchored a strong arm around her waist, bent forward, and deliberately pressed into Caitlan so they leaned low over Quinn. At the same instant he spurred the horse out of a canter and into a heavy gallop. A moment later he gave Quinn his head, and the stalwart animal practically took flight across the pasture.

Caitlan tensed, her fingers gripping the saddle horn. She locked her knees against Quinn’s sides since she didn’t have the security of having her feet in stirrups, and hung on for dear life. J.T. urged Quinn faster, and the horse complied, his hooves pounding on the soil. Fear pumped through Caitlan’s veins. The wind whipped through her hair, tangling the strands around her face.

“J.T., are you crazy?” she yelled.

He chuckled, and since his face was next to hers she heard the wickedly sensual sound clearly, felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” For emphasis, he tightened the arm banded around her waist.

Don’t worry? A hysterical laugh escaped her. She was riding a horse that raced so fast that if he happened to stumble over the uneven terrain they’d be catapulted a hundred feet ahead, not to mention the danger of being embraced by a man whose hard body was draped all over her. He was so close, the stubble on his jaw grazed her cheek, a delicious friction that brought an involuntary flutter to her stomach. The heat of his thighs bracketed hers, his chest a slab of muscular heat along her spine. And then there was the forearm around her waist, and the large hand splayed just beneath her right breast, his thumb nudging the soft underside through her jacket. Her nipple bloomed into a tight bud, aching for something more.

Quinn no longer provided the biggest threat. J.T. did. She thought of using the medallion to slow Quinn, and to take the edge off her quivering response to J.T., but she didn’t want to risk the Superior’s suspicions. How could she explain that she felt things for this man, physical, shameless things, that would surely shock them?
She
was shocked by her quickening pulse and the electrifying tempest pounding through her.

J.T. slowed Quinn slightly to accommodate for the ravine they were approaching at a rapid rate. Caitlan automatically stiffened.

“Relax, Caitlan,” J.T. murmured, his tone gentle. “I won’t let you fall.”

Willing herself to do as he commanded, she drew in a deep breath of cold, biting air and loosened her hold on the pommel. Allowing J.T. to support her, she marveled at the sleek strength and power of the animal beneath her, and of the man holding her. Funny, but she felt safe and secure with him, an exceptionally odd feeling considering
she
was
his
protector.

The trail dipped into the ravine, and Quinn took the change in grade with ease. Caitlan, however, leaned to one side of the saddle and clutched once again to the pommel.

“We’re almost there,” J.T. said, holding her upright. “About another mile. Can you hang in there?”

She nodded.

J.T. wondered if
he’d
survive the short distance left. The soft feel of Caitlan, and the rain-scented smell of her hair and skin, would be his undoing, he was sure. Pure, I00 percent woman, a temptation more intoxicating than a shot of liquor. He had the compulsive urge to press his mouth to the sensitive flesh beneath her earlobe and flick his tongue out to taste her skin. The way her slim body moved with his and Quinn’s stride was nothing short of fluid and graceful, evoking images of a more rhythmic sliding, of bodies joined so inseparably there’d be no tomorrow, only molten heat and sheer paradise. J.T. couldn’t remember the last time he’d desired a woman so fiercely, and wondered if taking her once would quench the unrelenting need he seemed to have for her.

He shook his head free of those dangerous thoughts. From what he’d learned so far about Caitlan Daniels he didn’t think she’d agree to a brief, mutually pleasurable fling for the two weeks she was at his ranch. Yet that’s all he had to offer any woman. Good, hot, satisfying sex. Nothing more. Nothing less.

In the distance a large red barn and a two-story ranch house came into view. Home never looked so good, he thought, spurring Quinn the last quarter mile. They passed the ranch hands’ bunk house and a few cabins nestled off to the side. Frank and Kirk had arrived and were speaking to a group of his ranch hands by the corral, no doubt relaying the tale he’d told them about his accident and Caitlan’s part in it all. His newest ranch hand, Mike, a drifter hired for a few months’ work, stood alone by the barn, smoking a cigarette. With a brooding expression, he eyed the other hands but made no move to join them.

In order to give him and Caitlan a minute before they were bombarded with questions, J.T. halted Quinn by the corral, some fifty yards away from his men. J.T. dismounted, then stepped back to give Caitlan room to do the same. Moving slowly, stiffly, she swung her leg over Quinn’s rump and lowered herself to the ground, grimacing. Still holding on to the saddle, she groaned.

A deep chuckle escaped him. He didn’t have to ask to know that, not being a seasoned rider, Caitlan would be sore from the rough ride and cramped quarters of the saddle, her legs probably the consistency of cooked spaghetti.

She attempted to glare at him for laughing at her expense, but he saw the sparkle of humor in her eyes. “Thanks a bunch, Rafferty. This is your fault, you know.”

Hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, he lifted a brow. “Really?”

She straighten moderately and gave another moan for the effort it cost her. “I’m not used to riding so hard. I hurt in places I didn’t know I could hurt.”

“Then maybe you ought to ride more often, city girl,” he drawled. “You’re too soft.” He knew that much for a fact.

His playful goad backfired on him. “Well, maybe I’ll take you up on your offer, considering I’ll be here for a while.”

The group of men started toward them, headed by his cousin Randal, preventing J.T. from responding to her comment. By the looks of collective interest and speculation cast Caitlan’s way, J.T. knew he’d have to set some ground rules for the men living in the bunk house—Caitlan was off limits and he wouldn’t tolerate any advances made toward her during her stay at the ranch.

Ever the womanizer, Randal chased anything with breasts and long legs, and Caitlan definitely fit that bill. However, Randal looked more intent on throttling Caitlan than trying to flirt with her, which surprised J.T. Curiosity over the ominous looks Randal cast Caitlan mingled with a sense of relief J.T. didn’t want to analyze too deeply. At least he wouldn’t have to battle with Randal for making a move on Caitlan, and cause more discord between himself and his cousin.