She sighed. “I’m not saying yes.”
Then again, she wasn’t saying no. Jesse counted that as progress. “Understood.”
“First of all, if we ever decided to date again, you couldn’t bullshit me.” She juggled the steaming cardboard tray on the potholder and dumped them both on a lone placemat at the kitchen counter.
“Done.”
“Second, if you ever want to ask me out again make sure you do it with some sincerity.” She rummaged through another drawer and came out with a fork. Waving it at him like a weapon, she expounded her point. “No woman wants to think she’s being courted out of some misguided sense of responsibility. I’d like to think a man asks me out because he really wants to be with me and
only me.
”
He could do that. Because damn it, he really did want to be with Kyra. He’d been thinking about her nonstop for two weeks running.
It was just the
only Kyra
part that caused him to think twice. He’d never been a one-woman man in his life. Could he pull it off now?
Just as he was thinking
hell yes
he could, Kyra sighed and stabbed at her Chicken Kiev. The woman who’d been so intent on cooking dinner now seemed to do little more than mangle her meal.
Tired of waiting for him, no doubt.
“You’d better go, Jesse. I need to get on the phone tonight to see if it’s too late to offer up Sam’s Pride at the horse auction in Tampa this weekend.” She shoved some broccoli around her cardboard plate. “I’m thinking with all the action going on at an event like that, I might be able to trick him into loading onto another horse trailer and closing a sale on him.”
“Wait a minute.” He didn’t want to talk about that damn horse or how badly Kyra wanted to boot him out of the business altogether. Not yet anyway. “I can do this, Kyra. You and me.”
She looked up from her dinner to meet his gaze, and a tear perched on the outer corner of one blue eye. “This isn’t the same as you talking me into riding with you at night while my father was sleeping, or convincing me to compete in the jumper class instead of the show ring. There’s a lot more at stake here for me.”
Shit.
He’d already screwed this up and he hadn’t even managed to get to the date part yet. The lone tear Kyra blinked away wrenched his insides more than the practiced pouts of a whole legion of femmes fatales.
Still, he backed away, knowing he’d been at fault for putting that tear there, if only for a moment. And instead of defending his actions or getting upset about what he and Kyra might have had together, Jesse found himself pleading on behalf of her horse.
“Don’t sell Sam’s Pride tomorrow. He deserves another chance.” His wet socks trailed footprints across the ceramic tiles as he made his way toward the door. “Don’t force us both out of your life yet.”
Kyra scrubbed her wrist over her eyes and stabbed another bite of chicken with her fork. “He’s just a horse, Jesse. Half our business has been built on raising them and selling them. I need that extra money.”
Yeah, so she could wall him out of every area of her life.
“I’m starting work on the houses full-time on Monday. I don’t stand a chance of being in your way here.” Already the thought of spending that much time away from the ranch didn’t set well with him. Who would he regale with stories about his first day as an honest-to-goodness working stiff?
“I have to put the business first, Jesse.”
I have to be practical, Jesse.
She didn’t voice the sentiment, but Jesse heard it between the lines.
Why the hell didn’t he have the right words to convince her otherwise?
Then again, she’d probably made up her mind already and Jesse had never been able to compete with her tough-as-nails resolve once she decided what she wanted.
Her voice scratched just a little, however, as she tossed out one final “Goodbye.”
* * *
“I
T
WAS
A
HELL
of a performance.” Clicking on the overhead light in his truck cab, Clint finally broke the silence that had fallen thick and heavy in the course of the last twenty miles.
He hadn’t known what exactly to say in the wake of Greta’s last desperate play for Jesse Chandler, but seeing how much passion she’d thrown into the effort had humbled him just a little. Obviously, she liked the guy more than he’d given her credit for.
Not that he was one bit sorry how the evening had turned out.
Jesse didn’t deserve a spitfire like Greta. Hell, that guy could barely keep pace with Kyra Stafford, who—from Clint’s observation—seemed to be the sanest woman on earth. No way could Jesse ever wade through the complex tangle of over-the-top behavior that characterized Greta Ingram.
Now, she sat in her corner of his truck, her wet purple scarf clinging to totally outrageous curves while she stared out the window at the gray blur of rain.
“What was a great performance?” She swiveled in her seat to face him. With the help of the overhead light, Clint could see her green eyes were all the more bright for the tears she hadn’t shed. “You riding in to the rescue on a damn white horse? Excuse me if I don’t applaud, I’m just a little choked up over that really warm reception I received from the so-called man of my dreams.”
Clint had to admire her spunk in the wake of disaster. “I wasn’t referring to me. You’re the one who put your heart on the line and had the nerve to go for what you wanted. And when Chandler was too blind to see what was right before his eyes, you bucked up and shipped out of there just as cool as you please.”
She shoved a wet hank of hair off her forehead. The small stretch combined with her transparent outfit made him recall exactly why she’d graced two
Sports Illustrated
covers in a row. Greta Ingram might be a little down on her luck, but she was a feast for the male eye.
Not that he was interested in her because of that.
Pretty women were a dime a dozen in Alabama, but none of them had ever affected Clint the way Greta did. Despite her perfect exterior, Greta had the guts of a prizefighter and a wilder spirit than any horse Clint had ever tried to tame.
She met his gaze with a level look of her own. “Sometimes we don’t have any choice but to walk away.”
Clint heard the message. Knew Jesse Chandler wasn’t the first person Greta had needed to leave behind. One day soon he’d find out who else had been foolish enough to let this woman go.
“Damn straight. No sense sticking around someone who doesn’t recognize your worth.” Clint thought he noticed her shiver out of the corner of his eye. “You cold?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Hell yes, you’re freezing.” He reached a hand back behind the bench seat and pulled out a blue cotton blanket that had seen better days. “It’s clean, I swear. You want me to pick you up something to eat?”
Greta spread the blanket over herself and shot him a surly look that was halfhearted at best. “Why are you being so nice to me today? You’ve been borderline hideous every other time we’ve ever spoken.”
He steered the truck over the back roads toward the suburbs of Tampa. The roads were peppered with palm trees and a few houses, but for the most part, they passed little traffic. The rain had slowed to a mist. “Didn’t I tell you I was going to break out the refined manners tonight if you let me take you out? I’m not some hick from a Mississippi backwater town, you know. We Alabama guys have class.”
“Mississippi. Alabama. There’s a difference?”
“I’m going to let that slide because you’re not a U.S. native.” Even though he was pretty sure she was trying to yank his chain. “And yes, there’s a huge difference.”
He saw her gaze stop on a McDonald’s sign and stay there. He wouldn’t have pegged Miss Supermodel for fast food, but he had to at least offer.
“You want me to stop—”
“Bacon double cheeseburger, please. And a strawberry shake.”
He slowed down but didn’t put on his signal light. What woman wanted carryout burgers on a date? “I could take you somewhere—”
“No! This is perfect.”
Clint turned into the drive-thru lane. “You like burgers that much?”
“I’ve been waiting half my life to finally eat them again. I lived on coffee and cigarettes the whole time I was modeling. I feel as if I’ve been given a new lease on life.” She poked him in the side as he was calling his order into the drive-thru speaker. “Can you get fries with that?”
He ordered enough food for a small army and then edged the truck out onto the main road. “You mind eating while we’re on the road?”
“Actually, this is perfect because I can watch you drive.”
Or at least that’s what Clint assumed she said. It was damn hard to tell when the woman’s mouth was full.
“Did you just say you wanted to watch me?” Because he was going to be very turned on if that was really the case.
“I want to learn how to drive and buy a car. It’s good for me to pick up the shifting rhythm, so I’ll just observe while I eat.” She popped another fry in her mouth and furrowed her brow as he hit fourth gear. “Where are we going?”
Personally, he was really hoping for third base.
“I thought I’d show you a great American tradition.”
She licked the sauce oozing out one side of her burger with a sensualist’s delight. “I’ve lived in the States on and off for years. I’ll bet I’ve already seen it.”
He rather hoped not. “I don’t know. You might not have since you don’t drive.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Are you familiar with the age-old pastime called parking?”
12
G
RETA
SMOTHERED
A
laugh. Clint Bowman was nothing if not entertaining, but she wasn’t entirely certain she should allow herself to relax with him yet. Behind tonight’s affable manner lurked a man with lots of dark corners and hidden depths.
Translation—Clint could still prove dangerous to a woman wary of men she couldn’t control or, at very least, understand.
Jesse had been every bit as dark and enticing as Clint with his bad-boy ways, but at least Greta had the peace of mind that he channeled them into games of seduction. While she’d never stood a chance at controlling him, she’d understood him. And she’d never been fearful of sex and all the erotic delights that went along with it.
But after the tense atmosphere of her childhood, Greta refused to get tangled up with any man who possessed a scary temper or who liked to power trip. And while Greta hadn’t pegged Clint for that type, she still hadn’t managed to peg him for any type. Period.
Deeper emotions frightened her far more than a guy sporting a set of handcuffs or a wicked grin.
“I know exactly what parking refers to, Clint Bowman. And I may be a cheap date, but I’ve given you no indication that I’d be easy.”
“Amen to that.” He turned off the main road onto a quiet stretch of highway lined with towering Georgia pines and banyan trees. “You’re talking to the guy who kicked off our first date by watching you tangle tongues with another man. I didn’t think for a second you’d be easy.”
Clint
had
stayed awfully calm in the wake of her throwing herself at Jesse. Some guys might have been jealous or picked a fight. Or worse. But Clint hadn’t been ruffled in the least.
A man like that must surely possess great stores of patience. Which, if Greta decided she might be interested in him, would definitely be a good thing.
Now, she watched the play of his muscles beneath his white polo shirt as he shifted gears. She’d totally forgotten to look for pointers on driving in her quest to simply watch Clint. He might not have the sculpted perfection of Jesse, but his rough-hewn features and solid, muscular build had definite appeal.
Her body was warming up beneath the blue cotton throw blanket Clint had given her. And it wasn’t just because her dress was drying out.
“I guess I needed to see if things were really dead between Jesse and me,” she said finally, crumpling up the remains of her dinner and stuffing them in the paper bag on Clint’s truck floor.
“And?”
“You saw with your own eyes how he turned me down cold. Obviously, he’s not carrying a torch.”
“But what about on your end? Still some sparks there?”
“Surprisingly, no.” Ever since she’d stumbled over Clint at the Crooked Branch, she’d had a hard time finding much enthusiasm for her pursuit of Jesse Chandler. “I think my feelings for him died a while back, but he’s just so damn perfect for the vision I have of my life that I couldn’t let go of the dream. Is that totally ridiculous or what?”
“I think you’re smart as hell for moving on once you figured out he wasn’t right for you. Too many people settle for relationships that don’t really work or that died a long time ago.” Something in his voice made Greta think his thoughts had jumped far beyond the confines of the truck cab.
“Speaking from experience?”
Clint stared out the window, but she could tell his expression changed. Hardened. “Put it this way—I’d sure as hell never want anyone to feel like they were settling with me.”
Again.
He didn’t say the word, but Greta heard it just the same. She studied the hard angles of his face as he slowed the truck and pulled into a paved turnoff on one side of the road.
“That begs the question what on earth are you doing asking me out when you knew I was chasing Jesse?” She thought they were turning around until Clint parked the truck and clicked off the ignition. The rain had stopped completely and they stared out at a clump of trees still dripping from the downpour.
Turning to face her, Clint stared at her with intent gray eyes. “Call it gut instinct, but I couldn’t see you with a guy who doesn’t recognize what’s in his own backyard.” Rolling his window down, he tossed the crumpled up fast-food sack into a trash can some ten feet away. They sat at some roadside pull-off with zero scenery in sight. A few trees loomed in the shadowed distance. No houses lined the road. “Besides, a girl as pretty as you ought to hook up with a less-than-perfect guy. Sort of even out the gene pool a little.”
She had a mind to quiz him on who he might deem appropriately less-than-perfect, but she was too curious about what they were doing out in the middle of nowhere.
“Not that I’m suspicious or anything, Clint, but I couldn’t help but notice your truck is now parked.” She squinted out her window, but there were no streetlights here to illuminate their surroundings. In the distance, through a scant line of fat trees, she spied little blue lights on the ground.
“So it is.” He smiled, unconcerned.
“We wouldn’t be parking by any chance, would we?” Okay, maybe the idea intrigued her just a little bit. All that gear shifting and flexing of male muscle had revved her engines a bit.
And for reasons she still couldn’t fully fathom, she and Clint had some major chemistry going.
His mouth hung open as if he couldn’t be more offended. “You wound me, Greta. Didn’t you specifically nix the parking idea? I just thought an international jet-setter like you would appreciate the slow pace of Saturday night entertainment where I come from.”
She waited for the other shoe to drop. “Watching the windshield fog up?”
“Watching planes take off. We’re on the outskirts of Tampa International Airport. See the runway lights over there?” He pointed to the strip of blue she’d seen before. “Although if you decide you want to work on fogging up that windshield, I’ll be more than happy to help.”
“Because you’re such a gentleman?”
“Exactly.”
Too bad the fire in his gray eyes didn’t look the least bit gentlemanly. Greta was experiencing hot flashes over the idea of wrestling around the truck with Clint Bowman and all those unrefined muscles of his.
She’d picked Jesse as a potential husband candidate because he seemed so perfect for her on the outside and what a total disaster that had been. What if this time, she ignored her damned preconceived notions of what kind of man she ought to be with and dated a guy who just plain made her feel good?
And Clint had only been armed with a bacon double cheeseburger and his wit. Imagine how he could make her feel if she allowed him to use those big, broad hands of his?
The mere thought sent shivers through her that didn’t have a thing to do with her limited attire.
Greta stared out the truck window for at least twenty seconds. “If this is your idea of fun, Clint Bowman, it’s no damn wonder you’re still single.”
Making up her mind to follow her instincts instead of her old, immature notions of perfection, Greta levered open the passenger-side door and tossed off the blanket she’d been hiding under.
“What are you doing?” He reached for his hat, shoulders tense. “This is
not
a good place to hitchhike, Greta.”
The flash of concern in his eyes sent a little thrill through her. When was the last time anyone had expended energy worrying about
her?
She was definitely making the right decision tonight.
Even if it was just a little over-the-top.
“No?” She slid out of the truck and down to the pavement. Glancing back toward the main road, she didn’t see a car anywhere so she hooked one finger in the lone knot that held her dress together. “Is it a good area to get naked?”
* * *
S
HE
WOULDN
’
T
.
Clint stared at Greta’s right index finger curved into the loop of purple fabric at her navel. He’d been the freaking epitome of control and restraint all night long.
Even when Greta had wrapped herself around another man for a kiss that
he
wanted to taste.
Even when she’d wriggled her way into his truck with a wet scarf plastered to her body and highlighting every sinfully sweet nuance.
But he couldn’t handle seeing her whipping off that scarf for his eyes only. Not when anybody could happen by their deserted stretch of runway.
He found his voice. Barely. “Outside the truck is probably
not
a great place to get naked.” His vocal cords hit a new depth of bass. The rest of his body seemed to be striving to reach new heights. “Inside the truck is perfectly safe, however.” He stretched across the front seat to offer her his hand. “So why don’t you climb in and we’ll pitch off all the clothes you want?”
Preferably starting with that fluttering piece of silk she was trying to pass off as a dress.
But dress or no, Clint just couldn’t wait to put his hands on her. Any part of her. Surely even a PC kind of guy could interpret the suggestion of getting naked as a bit of an invitation?
An airplane screamed down the runway while she stood out in the Florida night air, making up her fickle woman’s mind. Greta turned to watch it.
Faster.
Faster.
Before it shot like a bullet straight into the inky sky.
She laughed with the heady delight of a woman heeding the call of the wild. And with a snap of her wrist, she unleashed the scarf and banished it to the cool night wind.
That was
definitely
an invitation.
Clint didn’t see nearly enough skin in his scramble to get out of the truck. He followed her out the passenger-side door, unwilling to lose track of her for even an instant.
She was already sprinting—barefoot and laughing—toward the shelter of the banyan trees at the edge of the fenced runway. Her luscious pale body caught the hints of moonbeam even in the dark, making her an easy target for a man on a mission.
He’d never been so motivated in his life.
Less than ten steps and he caught her around the waist from behind. Drew the back of her to the front of him and nearly lost his mind at the onslaught of sensual impressions.
The creamy smooth skin of her belly beneath his palm. The exotic scent at her neck that didn’t originate in any dime-store perfume bottle. The perfect dip at the small of her back that gave way to hips other men could only dream about.
But mostly he felt the soft curve of her rump snuggled tightly to an erection that wouldn’t quit.
At least not any time tonight.
He might have tried carrying her back to his truck. That would have been the safest, most sensible thing to do with a naked woman.
But then Greta turned in his arms to pin him with hungry eyes and a wordless sigh, and robbed him of that option.
Her breasts pressed into his chest, making him very much aware of her arousal even through his polo shirt. The tight peaks teased and tormented him, called to his mouth.
He was already bending to kiss them when she ground her hips against his and caused a white flash through his head that could only be sensory explosion. Never had any man been inundated with so much delectable woman at one time.
The dull hum of a car engine flitted through his consciousness, but Clint couldn’t seem to make his feet move back toward the truck. Not now, when his lips were closing over Greta’s tight pink nipple.
He nudged her back into the protective cover of the scant trees and ignored everything else but the sweet taste of her rain-washed skin. She moaned and the sound vibrated right through him. Vaguely, he wondered if he’d drawn her too far into his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to let go of her enough to ask, and she kept squeezing him harder and harder.
God, she was incredible.
The car sped by the parking area, the flash of headlights behind them barely a blip on Clint’s mental radar. He normally played things so safe. He was normally a gentleman, damn it. But this woman got under his skin.
And right now, she’d gotten into his khakis in record time.
Her soft hands curved around him through his boxers and he knew he was so done for. A stone-encrusted bangle of some sort scraped against his abs, a welcome momentary sting to balance the pleasure that was robbing him of logic and reason.
“Greta, you deserve better.” He wanted to worship this woman. Lick every inch of her and stir her senses all the way to multiple orgasms.
Instead, he was halfway to taking her naked in the woods. Against a banyan tree of all the freaking things.
She bit his shoulder. Kissed his neck. “I don’t want better. I want more. Now.”
Running her hand up and down the length of him to prove her point, Greta presented arguments too persuasive to ignore. This time.
Clint promised himself next time would be different. Next time he’d be the one taking off her clothes. And she wouldn’t have a prayer of rushing him.
But for now, he was more than willing to get caught up in her wild ways.
She was in the middle of freeing him when she pulled back with a start. “Do you have anything with you? Um. Protection-wise?”
He reached for his wallet and pulled out a plastic packet. “Good thing one of us kept our clothes on.”
She stared at him accusingly even as she tore open the condom. “You
did
think I’d be easy.”
“Are you kidding? Hope springs eternal for every man. I carry one when I go to church, too, if it makes you feel any better.”
“Really?” She flashed him a conspiratorial smile, her blue eyes glowing with a feral light as she nudged his boxers down and rolled the prophylactic over him. “That sounds very wicked of you.”
He forgot how to breathe. She stroked him with urgent fingers while she wrapped one calf around his thigh.
When he found his voice again, he steadied her hips, not ready for her to fast-forward through this. “I prefer to think of it as optimistic.”
Staring down at her bared body in the moonlight, so perfect and totally uncivilized, Clint had to admit he would have never been this optimistic, however.
To have
her.
Tonight.