Taken, Not Spurred (Lone Star Burn) (3 page)

Melanie said blandly, “I work here.”

“Oh, I though
t . . .
”

“No,” Melanie and Tony said in unison.

Another blush spread across Sarah’s cheeks. The quick look she gave Tony sent his heart racing and his thoughts scattering.

“Sarah isn’t staying,” he said gruffly. “As soon as she locates her friends, she’s leaving.”

Sarah deflated a bit at his harsh declaration. “Yes, in fact, they should be there now. I should head out.”

I’ll probably regret this.
“Melanie, make a second plate for dinner. Sarah and I will eat in the dining room.”

Hard to say which woman he’d shocked more. Sarah looked back and forth between them as if seeking reassurance. “I
am
hungry. If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble?”

Melanie didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to. In fact, he preferred she didn’t. He wasn’t ready to explain to anyone, not even himself, why he was reluctant to see Sarah leave.

It was more than how his body responded to the sight of hers. He wante
d . . .

He wasn’t sure what exactly.

Was it because she had no idea who he was? She was neither intimidated by his reputation nor excited by the idea of being with a man many considered dangerous. No, she looked at him like there wasn’t a reason in the world why they couldn’t be friend
s . . .
or more.

Tony had been alone so long that he’d begun to believe he preferred it that way. In the beginning it had been easier, and over time it had become comfortable. Tonight he didn’t want to be a man with a past he regretted. He didn’t want to be angry. He wanted to have an uncomplicated dinner with a beautiful woman. Knowing she was leaving after their meal made it much easier to allow himself the possibility of enjoying it.

Melanie had just finished setting two places at one end of the dining room table when he and Sarah entered the room. No one would have guessed this was the first time anyone had sat there in the five years he’d owned the place. He preferred the solitude of the small kitchen table. He wasn’t about to mention it, though—women would falsely read meaning into something like that.

Chapter Two

S
tanding in the doorway of the dining room, Sarah wished life had a “Pause” button. She wanted to slow time and savor each moment. Another woman might have been afraid, but the joy of the unexpected was the reason Sarah often chose riding the trails instead of sticking to the ring at the barn she boarded her horse at. Outside of the riding ring, she was free, and anything was possible.

This wasn’t how my trip was supposed to go, but look at me, standing next to a real cowboy—one with a shy smile and a slow Southern drawl.
He belongs in a book.
She figured he was in his late twenties or early thirties, but the rugged lines of his face spoke of years of hard work, and his callused hands held a powerful promise she’d never imagined in the manicured, smooth texture of the city men she was used to.

He even smells like the outdoors.

How strange would I look if I took out my notebook and jotted down all the things I don’t want to forget about him? I’d start with those muscles. Those heavenly muscles.
Unlike the hulking men who strutted like peacocks at her local gym, this man had the understated, quiet strength that Sarah found a million times sexier.
He earned those delicious biceps and that rock-hard body in a way that wouldn’t have diminished the size of hi
s . . .

In the middle of an appreciative sigh, Sarah realized her gaze had followed her thoughts in a less-than-subtle ogling of his lower assets. She looked up quickly, her face heating with a blush when she met his eyes.
Quick. Say something.
“I like you
r . . .
u
h . . .
jeans.”

Who the hell says that?

“Pardon the dust.” He brushed his hand down one thigh, a move that sent responding flickers of heat through Sarah. There it was again, that almost smile. “I usually shower when I get home, but it was already occupied.”

You could have joined me,
Sarah thought, surprised at herself.
Oh my God, I’m smiling like
some street lunatic. Don’t look guilty; look away or he’ll know what you were thinking.
She met his eyes and the heat that flew between them made her start considering all sorts of impulsive things—many of which included the removal of some or all of their clothing.

Sarah gulped.

Okay, this is not a good idea. I don’t know this man.

But I’d like to.

Oh, how I’d like to.

Stop that!
she chastised her raging libido.
This summer is about breaking free, living, finding my writer’s voice—not about having a one-night stand just because my sense of direction sucks.

She sought sanity by turning her attention to the table. The very long, very sturdy table.
What would it be like to push the plates aside an
d . . .

A huge smile spread across her face as images of them entwined passionately elicited another thought.
I have a naughty side.

Me.

Who knew? All I needed was the right inspiration!

Tony moved to stand behind one of the chairs and pulled it out for her to sit. When she did, he pushed it in with more force than she’d expected and she gasped. He took the seat across from her but looked far from happy about it, making her wonder if their attraction was indeed mutual.

Sarah had never considered herself a beauty, nor was she used to men glowering at her like she was a
n . . .
uninvited guest?
I’m such an idiot. He’s feeding me out of pity. This isn’t a date. No amount of leering at him will change that.
Sarah groaned, pushed her seat back, and stood. “I should go.”

“Sit,” he said in an authoritative voice she was sure moved most people to obedience.

At first glance, she’d thought his eyes were hazel, but in the dim dining room lighting they were a deeper green. The air thickened with tension. Heart pounding in her chest, Sarah stood immobile, like prey frozen in a field.

What would it be like to be with a real man?
One who wouldn’t fumble with a bra strap or ask you so many times if you really wanted to do it, you began to ask yourself the same question. No, Tony would take what he wanted
.

She shivered with pleasure at the thought.

Taken.

Now that would be something to write about.

“Sit,” he ordered again, more softly, and Sarah did so only because her knees gave out beneath her.
He could ask me for almost anything in that tone and I wouldn’t refuse.

I should leave now.

He could be dangerous.

Or he could be the best mistake I’ve ever made.

The sound of Melanie organizing plates in the adjoining room shook Sarah free of her hormonal stupor. She said the first thing that came to her mind. “I saw your horses. They’re beautiful. How many do you have?” She wasn’t sure he was going to answer her at first. If the harsh set of Tony’s jaw was anything to go by, he was enjoying their time together much less than she was.

“Depends on the season,” he answered vaguely.

“And they’re all quarter horses?”
Is it wrong to ask questions just so I can hear his knee-weakening drawl again?

“Most of ’em.”

Melanie placed two glasses of lemonade between them.

Sarah thanked her and took a long sip, half closing her eyes as she enjoyed its refreshing coolness. When she opened them, she noticed Tony gazing at her intently, looking even less happy, if that was possible.

She grew nervous, and when she was nervous she tended to ramble. “Did you see Scooter outside?” she asked, but continued without waiting for his answer. “I put him in a paddock because it was too hot to leave him in the trailer. I hope that was okay. I thought I was at Lucy’s place when I did it.”

“Are you married?” His voice broke through her monologue like a bolt of lightning.

“No,” she said quickly, her mouth working faster than her brain. “I’m single. Totally single.” She grabbed a napkin and practically shoved it in her mouth to stop the flow of words.
Could I be more obvious?

Think.

Think of something cool to say.

Nothing came to mind.

Melanie returned with generous platters of steak and vegetables, explaining she would be back in the morning to clean up. The click of the outside door announced her departure and echoed through the quiet house. They ate in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

“I don’t usually do this,” Sarah blurted out. “Not that we’re doing anything more than eating. And of course I do that on a regular basis. Eat, I mean. I just don’
t . . .
”

“Do more than dinner?” he asked, his expression unreadable as he laid his fork down beside his plate.

She nodded. “Yes, that part. I don’t want you to think because you saw me in a towe
l . . .
”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth.

Oh, God, he’s laughing.
My fantasy cowboy is laughing at me.

Embarrassed, she threw her napkin at him. “It’s not funny.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “It is, actually.”

Sarah crossed her arms with a bit of a huff. “It had to be said or things could get awkward.”

“You mean more than
this
?” His grin was unrepentant.

Imagining the evening through his eyes, Sarah groaned. He was probably hoping she would talk less, eat more, and get out of there quickly. “I do appreciate you not calling the police when you found me here.”

“The sheriff would have loved that. Best break-in story ever.”

“I didn’t break in—” she started to say, but stopped when all the emotions of the day rushed in and, combined with her sudden fatigue, brought an embarrassing sheen of tears to her eyes.

All humor left Tony’s face. He looked at the door quickly as if that would somehow conjure up his housekeeper. “Don’t cr
y . . .
”

“I’m not crying,” Sarah denied hotly, and sniffed.
Great, I bet my nose is turning red.
A man like Tony probably dated sophisticated women: women who would know exactly how to flirt with him. They’d entice rather than entertain him.

What do I do when I’m given an evening alone with the sexiest man I’ve ever met?
Sarah sniffed again and looked around for a tissue.
Nothing worth documenting unless I decide to write an article about how to make an idiot of myself in ten easy steps.

He stood abruptly; his chair teetered and almost toppled behind him. “You should try calling your friends again.”

Party’s over.

Get out.

Sarah stood, too, and followed him back to the living room and the phone.

Hey, Texas, so far you’re not that good for my ego.

“Thanks, but it’s probably best if I just load Scooter and go. Sounds like I have a night of driving ahead of me.”

Tony stopped and turned so abruptly that she walked straight into him. Everything she’d admired earlier was acutely more amazing pressed up against her. He steadied her with a hand on either arm and eased her back, but not before she’d experienced her first bout of gut-clenching lust that tempted her to launch herself back into his arms.

Although that would make a good story to tell my friends.

I thought you said he didn’t call the sheriff when you broke into his house, so how did you end up arrested?

Oh, that happened when I mauled him even after he kept asking me to leave. You would have, too. He was gorgeous.

His hands dropped away, and for a moment Sarah forgot why she’d followed him.
You know, besides wanting to stare up at him speechlessly and drool for one last time before I left.

“I can’t let you g
o . . .
” he said.

Thank God.

“
. . .
until you contact someone. No telling where you’d end up on your own.”

Okay, that last part killed the mood a bit.

Now I remember why I want to write. Reality sucks. Watch out, Mr. Cowboy. When I put you in a book, you’re going to be kissing my feet and begging me to stay.
Sarah raised her chin with renewed pride and said, “I’ll call them one more time, but I’m leaving even if they don’t answer. Where I end up is none of your concern.”

Now I sound like a heroine in a romance novel.

Take that, Mr. Sexy Cowboy.

Tony looped his thumbs through his belt and said, “In Texas, if you find someone in your shower, you’re responsible for their welfare for at least twenty-four hours.”

Sarah opened her mouth to argue the point, then cocked her head to the side and asked, “Did you just make another joke?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.
Note to self: dry humor in an otherwise stern character is intriguing—would even be sexy if I wasn’t the butt of his joke.

She defended her arrival. “I wouldn’t be here if all the damn ranches in Texas didn’t have the same name.”

A hint of a smile curled one side of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Just give me the phone,” Sarah said, and stepped past him.

He caught her arms midstep, spun her, and held her just in front of him. The hot look in his eyes sent another rush of desire through Sarah.
He wants me.
Her mouth went dry and she flicked her tongue over her bottom lip.

The move caught his eye, but instead of crushing her to him with the kiss she anticipated, he eased her back from him again and said, “My number is near the phone if you want your friends to call you back here.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left.

Fanning her face, Sarah picked up the nondescript black phone and reluctantly dialed her friend’s number.

Lucy is probably frantic by now.

The phone rang once. Then twice.

Or not.

A machine picked up after the fifth ring. “Hi, Lucy. It’s Sarah. I had a little trouble finding your place, so I am at—I’m at a friend’s house. Anyway, when you get this message please call me.” She left Tony’s number and hung up the phone.

He wanted me.

I know he did.

Or I’m desperate enough to see only what I want to se
e . . .
like a cattle ranch where there are only horses.