Taken, Not Spurred (Lone Star Burn) (2 page)

The crotch of his jeans became uncomfortably tight as his body came alive with the desire to strip and join her in the shower. He could see the outline of her towel-clad body and the expanse of exposed legs behind the lightly fogged glass. In her rush to cover herself, she hadn’t taken the time to dry off. He imagined sinking to his knees and burying his face in her damp pussy. Would it taste as sweet and fresh as her lips looked? Would she throw her head back and to the side when he lifted her naked against the shower wall and suckled the full breasts he could now only see the rounded tops of? Would her smiling mouth round in a gasp of pleasure as he drove his cock into her for the first time?

He wasn’t an impulsive man when it came to women, but the throbbing need that swept through him made him want to be.

Easy, cowboy. A man can’t be blamed for where his thoughts go when he finds a beautiful, naked woman in his shower, but thinking and acting are two different things. She could be anyone, with God only knows what sort of intentions. Something that appears too good to be true almost always is.
“I don’t know what made you think—”

Securing the towel chastely around herself, she stepped out of the shower. With shocking audacity, she smiled and put her hand out to shake his. “I admit I wasn’t sure if it was okay to take a shower before you came home, but I figured since I’m staying here for the summer you wouldn’t mind.”

Oh, hell no.
“You’re what?”

Her extended hand wavered, then fell to her side. She took a quick step back, eyes darting past him to a pile of clothes she had stacked on the counter near the sink. “I thought you knew.”

He towered over her, more out of habit than a desire to intimidate her. Members of the press had become more creative recently in their attempts to interview him, but would they go this far? Her pale, creamy skin and pink manicured toenails warned him she’d be trouble. But damned if he didn’t care.
“I’m listening.”

She looked down at her state of undress, then back at him. Her eyes were as wide and expressive as a young filly’s. “I’m not dressed,” she said.

He hoped his swollen dick wasn’t as obvious as it was painful. “I noticed.”

Emotion deepened her already dark brown eyes. A line of exasperation creased her brow. “I’m sorry you didn’t know I was coming. I’m sorry I made myself at home while you were out.” She stopped and her voice softened. “The truth is, I’ve driven a long way to get here and I’m just too tired to fight about it. I’d like to get dressed. Did Lucy come home with you?” She began to slide around him, inching toward her clothing.

He settled back on his heels a bit. “Lucy?”

“Your sister.”

“I don’t have a sister.” This pretty little woman was about as loony as they come, but a man couldn’t be blamed for overlooking that when she stood there with her skin still pink from the heat of the shower.

She stumbled back a bit at that. “Y-you don’t?” Eyes big with surprise, she chewed her bottom lip nervously. “But this is the Double C Ranch.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“And you’re Lucy’s brother, Steven Albright.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. My name’s Tony, Tony Carlton.”

He waited for a reaction to his name, then received one he hadn’t expected. His little shower beauty rubbed her forehead with the back of one hand. He watched her and worried for his sanity as he once again became mesmerized by her movements. He should care who Steven was, but instead all he could think about was how he wanted to redirect that hand to rubbing something else, something that was craving her touch in a bad way.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t this the Double C Ranch in Mavis?”

He removed his hat and wiped the wet sheen from his forehead. The residual steam from the shower added to an overall temperature spike caused by prolonged exposure to a scene worthy of mention in a men’s magazine. “Fort Mavis.”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes rounded with real shock. Not too much amused him, but her look of horror tickled what was left of his funny bone. “We’re almost a day’s drive west of Mavis,” he added.

She went pale, and then a deep red flush started at her neck and ran straight over her face. “You feeling okay, ma’am?” he asked, and went to her side right quick. He was not about to explain to Doc how a near-naked city woman cracked her fool head in his bathroom. Desire took second seat to concern.

He was relieved when she sat on the closed toilet seat. Her adorable shoulders slumped and she covered her eyes in a childlike attempt to disappear. “So,” the little beauty groaned, “I’m in the wrong town.”

“Yes, ma’am, it sure sounds that way.” He knew he should step out of the bathroom and let her get dressed. The mystery was solved. She wasn’t a reporter or a thief. No, she was jus
t . . .
blonde. The thought had the corners of his mouth itching to smile.

Regaining some of her composure, she brought her delicate hands down, stood, squared her shoulders, and met his eyes—knocking all coherent thought clear out of his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that gas station attendant. I was just so happy that he’d heard of the place.” Her color was back to normal, but her voice was a bit strained. “Does Texas have a lot of ranches named Double C?”

“Appears we have at least two,” he said, and this time he could not restrain the lusty grin that spread across his face. She was as adorable as she was sexy, a disconcerting combination. Had she turned up the heat and come on to him, he would have lost interest—well, after sampling whatever she’d offered.

Apparently a man could only go so long without sex before he lost his damn mind, because it appeared that she wasn’t the least bit interested in him. Truth be told, as the enormity of the situation sunk in, she wasn’t paying much attention to him at all.

“I can’t believe I did thi
s . . .
” A look of self-disgust crossed her delicate features. “Oh my God. My brother will never let me live this down. Only I would drive all this way to the wrong ranch.”

She paused and her eyes widened.
“The wrong ranch.”
Repeating the words slowly with new emphasis. She retightened the top of her towel with hands that shook a little. “I should get dressed.”

Even though the towel concealed more than shorts and a tank top would have, picturing what lay under it was torturing him. He’d managed to clear his head of images of her writhing with pleasure beneath him, but they were clamoring to return. It was time to make a hasty exit while he still had a mind to. Mustering a nod, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Too soon she was with him again. No makeup. No shoes. Just wearing a simple flowered sleeveless blouse and a pair of tan shorts, whose midthigh length was likely considered modest. And the sight of her still drove him damn near crazy. He wanted to run a hand up one of her legs, to test if they were, in truth, as soft as they appeared.

She rushed by him and disappeared into the living room. He followed, aroused but trying to remain irritated by the presence of this stranger in his home.

Gorgeous or not, she has to go.

“I really am sorry about this,” she burst out with her rapid-fire Northern accent. “You probably think I’m crazy. I guess I am.” She paced back and forth in front of him, a barefoot beauty. “I knew I should have bought a map.” She waved her cell phone in the air. “It worked the rest of the way down here, but not when it really mattered.”

Leaning against the doorjamb, he felt the stirring of something even more worrisome than lust. A tickle of adrenaline licked through his veins as his high-energy intruder came to a stop in front of him. It had been years since anything had made his heart race and his breath catch in his throat. Something about this woman pulled at a part of him he’d long considered dead.

Oblivious to how close he was to hauling her to him and tasting those tempting, pursed lips, Sarah said, “I’ll get my stuff and be out of here before I cause any trouble.”

“Trouble?”
Dammit, now why didn’t I simply agree?

She turned away, bent, and gave him a delightful view of her never-ending legs as her shorts rose up. She didn’t seem to notice, just kept rummaging through her luggage. “With your girlfriend or wife or whatever.”

“No trouble,” he drawled. Crazy must be catching, because he was having difficulty reconciling what he knew he should say with the damn fool things coming out of his mouth.

“There they are,” she exclaimed happily, and pulled out the most impractical pair of boots he’d ever seen: knee-high, polished leather, with ridiculously spindly heels and some sort of strap across the top. She held them up next to one leg. “I bought these special for this trip. Do you like them?”

He didn’t answer. His thoughts weren’t the type that should be shared with a woman he’d just met.
Like them?
No man would ever ask her to take them off. Those were the kind of boots that stayed on all night.

She sat on the couch as she pulled them on. Her big brown eyes studied him intensely. He’d bought horses with less of a perusal than she was giving him. He wished he had taken the time to shave that morning. His plaid shirt was covered with dust and sweat from the time he’d spent working in the hot afternoon. The old jeans he’d thrown on without a second thought that morning were smudged with grass stains. Not much to look at.

“Could I bother you for one more thing?” Her voice was huskier than before. “May I use your phone?” She held up her cell phone. “This thing is useless here and my friends must be worried by now. They expected me hours ago.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to answer. The way she continued to look him ove
r . . .
slowl
y . . .
from head to foot had him fumbling for sanity. He pointed to the land phone on the small table in the corner of the room and wordlessly watched her walk to it.

Damn.

“There’s still no answer.” She waved the handset helplessly in the direction of her distant friends. “I guess I should just head over there and wait till they get home.”

“Are you sure you can find the place?” he asked without missing a beat, surprising himself.

As she replaced the handset, Sarah’s eyes narrowed at him even as her dimples revealed her good humor at his teasing. “A cowboy
and
a comedian?”

Tony shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve ever been accused of being funny before.” He’d never had much to laugh about and didn’t see any merit in acting the clown, since the world was full of those who took to idiocy naturally.

Her expression softened. “Well, you should try it more often. It suits you.”

The compliment jolted him like a brush with electric fencing. Tony retreated a step and almost tripped when the back of his boot met her suitcase.

She advanced and reached to steady him but he stepped back again, evading her touch.

The sound of the front door opening had never been so welcome.
Women make men stupid. Plain and simple.
Wasn’t that what his father had always said? He didn’t need more proof than practically falling on his ass because a woman half his size had complimented him.

The shuffle of boots across the wooden floor announced that someone was joining them.
Melanie.
Her presence wasn’t a surprise. As his housekeeper, she used his kitchen on a daily basis to prepare meals for him. Normally, however, she was better at minding her own business.

Yep, she was fixing to break the one rule he’d laid down the day he’d hired her and, for a reason he wasn’t comfortable exploring, he wasn’t prepared to correct her in front of Sarah.

Melanie came to a stop at the doorway. “You have company? Do you need anything?” She looked over as she spoke, and for a moment the two women simply stared at each other.

A man would have been hard-pressed to say if these two women could get along. Life hadn’t been kind to Melanie, and she’d spent almost as much time hiding on his secluded ranch as he had. Although she was likely only a few years older than Sarah, they couldn’t have been more different. If the two were cats, Sarah would be the fluffy, white, pampered city type that would probably run at the first sign of a rodent. Melanie would be a brown, bad-tempered barn cat: useful to have but better kept outside.

Not that she ever showed her temper around him; no one did and stayed.

He was still debating how to get both of them out of his house when Sarah stepped forward with the huge, welcoming smile he’d seen on her face when she’d thought he was her friend’s brother.

She took Melanie’s hand in hers and shook energetically. “Hi, my name’s Sarah.”

Melanie pulled her hand free. Did he imagine the hiss?
Careful, Sarah. Feral cats aren’t real good when cornered.
He figured he could intervene before things got ugly, but most creatures got along better if you let them sort it out for themselves.

Sarah’s smile didn’t dim as she waited for the other woman to speak.

“Melanie,” his dark-haired housekeeper said curtly.

In the high-speed way she spoke, Sarah said, “I can only imagine what you must be thinking, but this is much more ridiculous and innocent than it looks.” She took her phone out of her back pocket and waved it between them. “I mean, who knew it wouldn’t work out here, right?” She looked over her shoulder at Tony and said, “Your husband was just letting me use your phone.” Then she flushed a delightful shade of pink. “Okay, your shower, too, but he didn’t let me use that. I mean, I did use it, but that was before I knew you would both be here. Which, you should be, because it’s your house. So why wouldn’t you be here? I’m the one who shouldn’t be here. And I’m actually just leaving.”

Melanie, who’d simply stared at Sarah during this overflowing river of speech, raised her eyebrows and stated succinctly, “I’m not his wife.”

“Whew,” Sarah said with a laugh, then stopped and looked at both of them again. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. If you’re his girlfriend or whatever, I’m cool with that. It was just that—whoa, explaining this to a wife would be so much worse. Not that anything happened.” Sarah closed her eyes briefly as if the thought pained her, then continued earnestly, “Unless you count that he saw me naked, and that totally wasn’t his fault.”