on the soft leather sofa in Simon’s home office was tantalizing…and frustrating. He and Leila would be talking business, not making love. But, oh, it didn’t take much imagining to picture her in his arms, kissing him the way she’d kissed him at Simon’s party, molding her lithe body against his and…
Marsh hit the brakes hard, nearly missing the turn to the Beauchamps’ farm.
Nine days and she’d be gone.
But not if he could bloody well help it.
SIX
F ROM THE MOMENT Marsh stepped into the barn, he knew that the Beauchamps’ mare was in serious trouble. Bright red blood smeared the inside of the stall and matted the straw that covered the hard dirt floor. The horse stood unsteadily, head down and eyes glazed.
Timothy was there, waiting for them. His face was pale and streaked with tears, but his mouth was set in a grim line of determination. “I know she should be lying down, but when she did, she started to roll, and I knew that would hurt the foal, so I’ve kept her up and walking.”
“Splendid,” Marsh said crisply, unbuttoning his shirt. “First thing
I
need to do is wash up and change. Tim, there’s a packet of sterile green medical scrubs and gloves in the back of the jeep. Run quickly and get it. Leila, love, help me out of these clothes.”
Leila couldn’t move. Did he just ask her to help him take off his clothes? He couldn’t possibly be serious.
“Get these shoes off, will you please?” Marsh asked. “Come on, quickly now.”
Leila forced herself to kneel on the barn’s packed dirt floor. She pulled off Marsh’s dark brown dress shoes as he balanced first on one foot and then the other. He fumbled with the last of the buttons on his shirt, and finally yanked it over his head, tossing it over a wooden chair.
He was serious. He was actually taking off his clothes. Right there. Right in the barn. Right in front of her. And he wanted her to help.
But of course. His new clothes would be ruined if he went into the stall to help the mare. Still, it was extremely strange.
“Get the buckle, would you?”
Marsh had a white T-shirt on underneath his dress shirt, and as he pulled that off, Leila unbuckled his belt. As she started to unbutton his pants, his hands closed around hers.
“I’ll get that.”
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Leila felt herself blush. What was she doing, reaching for his pants as if she couldn’t wait to see the color of his shorts? And now he was smiling at her discomfort, the creep.
“You
asked
me to help,” she said defensively, as he peeled his pants off his legs.
White. He was wearing plain, white, utilitarian briefs. They hugged his muscular body, contrasting with his tanned skin. Somehow she’d always pictured Marsh wearing expensive silk boxers.
Was he going to strip down even further? Leila held her breath, not knowing what to expect, hoping…what? That he would or that he wouldn’t? She wasn’t quite sure.
“I did ask you to help, indeed.” Marsh crossed to the big sink in the corner of the barn. “But I thought it best to keep the distractions down to a minimum. I’m here to help the Beauchamps’ mare, not live out one of my wildest dreams. Do me a favor, Lei, and take my socks off while I wash up? If I’m going to go shoeless, I’d much rather have bare feet.”
Just then, Tim ran in, breathless, tears threatening. “I’m sorry, Doc, I can’t find it.”
Marsh looked up. “In the bag, Tim. In the bag in the back of the jeep.” He smiled. “Take a deep breath and calm down. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Tim nodded and scurried off.
Marsh turned on the hot water and began to scrub his hands and his arms all the way up past his elbows as Leila knelt down behind him. He balanced on one foot as she lifted his other leg. Her fingers felt cool against his skin, and her touch was gentle. It wasn’t hard at all to imagine her hands caressing him. God knew, he’d imagined it often enough
Marsh hit the brakes hard, nearly missing the turn to the Beauchamps’ farm.
Nine days and she’d be gone.
But not if he could bloody well help it.
SIX
F ROM THE MOMENT Marsh stepped into the barn, he knew that the Beauchamps’ mare was in serious trouble. Bright red blood smeared the inside of the stall and matted the straw that covered the hard dirt floor. The horse stood unsteadily, head down and eyes glazed.
Timothy was there, waiting for them. His face was pale and streaked with tears, but his mouth was set in a grim line of determination. “I know she should be lying down, but when she did, she started to roll, and I knew that would hurt the foal, so I’ve kept her up and walking.”
“Splendid,” Marsh said crisply, unbuttoning his shirt. “First thing
I
need to do is wash up and change. Tim, there’s a packet of sterile green medical scrubs and gloves in the back of the jeep. Run quickly and get it. Leila, love, help me out of these clothes.”
Leila couldn’t move. Did he just ask her to help him take off his clothes? He couldn’t possibly be serious.
“Get these shoes off, will you please?” Marsh asked. “Come on, quickly now.”
Leila forced herself to kneel on the barn’s packed dirt floor. She pulled off Marsh’s dark brown dress shoes as he balanced first on one foot and then the other. He fumbled with the last of the buttons on his shirt, and finally yanked it over his head, tossing it over a wooden chair.
He was serious. He was actually taking off his clothes. Right there. Right in the barn. Right in front of her. And he wanted her to help.
But of course. His new clothes would be ruined if he went into the stall to help the mare. Still, it was extremely strange.
“Get the buckle, would you?”
Marsh had a white T-shirt on underneath his dress shirt, and as he pulled that off, Leila unbuckled his belt. As she started to unbutton his pants, his hands closed around hers.
“I’ll get that.”
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Leila felt herself blush. What was she doing, reaching for his pants as if she couldn’t wait to see the color of his shorts? And now he was smiling at her discomfort, the creep.
“You
asked
me to help,” she said defensively, as he peeled his pants off his legs.
White. He was wearing plain, white, utilitarian briefs. They hugged his muscular body, contrasting with his tanned skin. Somehow she’d always pictured Marsh wearing expensive silk boxers.
Was he going to strip down even further? Leila held her breath, not knowing what to expect, hoping…what? That he would or that he wouldn’t? She wasn’t quite sure.
“I did ask you to help, indeed.” Marsh crossed to the big sink in the corner of the barn. “But I thought it best to keep the distractions down to a minimum. I’m here to help the Beauchamps’ mare, not live out one of my wildest dreams. Do me a favor, Lei, and take my socks off while I wash up? If I’m going to go shoeless, I’d much rather have bare feet.”
Just then, Tim ran in, breathless, tears threatening. “I’m sorry, Doc, I can’t find it.”
Marsh looked up. “In the bag, Tim. In the bag in the back of the jeep.” He smiled. “Take a deep breath and calm down. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Tim nodded and scurried off.
Marsh turned on the hot water and began to scrub his hands and his arms all the way up past his elbows as Leila knelt down behind him. He balanced on one foot as she lifted his other leg. Her fingers felt cool against his skin, and her touch was gentle. It wasn’t hard at all to imagine her hands caressing him. God knew, he’d imagined it often enough
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