sound questions until they pulled up in front of the sprawling house.
She didn't wait for him to open her door, as he would have preferred, but jumped down and stood in the smallish front yard, looking around with her hand shading her eyes.
"We need to get you a hat before we go do what I've planned," he said, slipping her hand into his as he guided them to the house.
She tried to tug her hand away, but he held on – gently but firmly, not letting go but not even acknowledging that she was trying to resist him, either. "I'll give you the grand tour later. For right now, let's get you outfitted in a manner best befitting what we're going to do before dinner." He brought her to a mudroom of sorts, which was lined with pairs of cowboy boots in all different sizes, with a long hat rack above them that was overrun with cowboy hats.
"What size are you, darlin'?" he asked, using the endearment out of habit.
"I'm a seven, precious," she said, hands on her hips, and she heard him chuckle.
"I thought your manager was going to crap his pants when you called me pumpkin on my way out the door last week."
"Me, too."
He found what looked like a brand new pair of ladies size seven boots and motioned for her to sit down on one of the benches that were lined up on the opposite wall. She took her holey, held-together-by-threads-and-sheer-determination sneaker off and held out her hand for a boot, but he was already squatting down in front of her, crowding her badly, one big palm cupping her calf familiarly as he put the boot on her, resting the sole of it on his broad thigh, saying, "Push."
They fit like they were made for her, as did the hat.
Stepping back from her a bit, he perused her critically. "You are just too cute."
Amazed that she felt comfortable enough around him to do so, she swatted his broad shoulder, barely able to hit it without standing on tiptoes, he was so damned tall. "Cut that out. I am not." She'd already turned to head out into the kitchen, where they'd come in, but he caught her arm and swung her back around, bringing her abruptly – and intimately – up against him and tipping his hat back on his head before those arms settled gently yet heavily around her. She found that she couldn't move unless he allowed it, which had alarm bells going off inside her head that she did her best to ignore with only moderate success.
Mace saw them, too, and knew he was making her uncomfortable, but was unwilling to back down, in fact he pushed her just that much farther out of her comfort zone by using his hands to lay claim to her back, pressing her just that much tighter against him. "Miranda, you don’t know me very well, but I'll always be honest with you – perhaps more than you might want me to be at times. And, besides, I own this place. I'm the boss here. If I say you're cute, you're damned well cute."
She would have chuckled, but he didn't give her time to as his lips descended on hers passionately, slanting his mouth and pressing her head back into his shoulder as his tongue delved past lips and teeth to dual with her much more tentative one.
It wasn't a long kiss. He didn't want to overwhelm her – much, anyway – so he broke it off rather quickly, pressing his forehead to hers, relieved to realize that she, too, was breathing heavily. He thought it was a good sign. The wary look he'd seen flare in her eyes when he'd squatted down before her to touch her somewhat forwardly was tucked into the back of her eyes, despite his eager passion.
"Are we going to snog in the coatroom all night?" she asked pertly when his head came down again because he was unable to resist kissing her again. "I want to see the ranch! I've read about them all my life, but I've never been on one."
He knew he should be happy that she was interested at all, but he would have been just as happy to have snogged in the cloakroom all night, himself.
As Mace showed her around the place, his pride in it shone through in every word he
She didn't wait for him to open her door, as he would have preferred, but jumped down and stood in the smallish front yard, looking around with her hand shading her eyes.
"We need to get you a hat before we go do what I've planned," he said, slipping her hand into his as he guided them to the house.
She tried to tug her hand away, but he held on – gently but firmly, not letting go but not even acknowledging that she was trying to resist him, either. "I'll give you the grand tour later. For right now, let's get you outfitted in a manner best befitting what we're going to do before dinner." He brought her to a mudroom of sorts, which was lined with pairs of cowboy boots in all different sizes, with a long hat rack above them that was overrun with cowboy hats.
"What size are you, darlin'?" he asked, using the endearment out of habit.
"I'm a seven, precious," she said, hands on her hips, and she heard him chuckle.
"I thought your manager was going to crap his pants when you called me pumpkin on my way out the door last week."
"Me, too."
He found what looked like a brand new pair of ladies size seven boots and motioned for her to sit down on one of the benches that were lined up on the opposite wall. She took her holey, held-together-by-threads-and-sheer-determination sneaker off and held out her hand for a boot, but he was already squatting down in front of her, crowding her badly, one big palm cupping her calf familiarly as he put the boot on her, resting the sole of it on his broad thigh, saying, "Push."
They fit like they were made for her, as did the hat.
Stepping back from her a bit, he perused her critically. "You are just too cute."
Amazed that she felt comfortable enough around him to do so, she swatted his broad shoulder, barely able to hit it without standing on tiptoes, he was so damned tall. "Cut that out. I am not." She'd already turned to head out into the kitchen, where they'd come in, but he caught her arm and swung her back around, bringing her abruptly – and intimately – up against him and tipping his hat back on his head before those arms settled gently yet heavily around her. She found that she couldn't move unless he allowed it, which had alarm bells going off inside her head that she did her best to ignore with only moderate success.
Mace saw them, too, and knew he was making her uncomfortable, but was unwilling to back down, in fact he pushed her just that much farther out of her comfort zone by using his hands to lay claim to her back, pressing her just that much tighter against him. "Miranda, you don’t know me very well, but I'll always be honest with you – perhaps more than you might want me to be at times. And, besides, I own this place. I'm the boss here. If I say you're cute, you're damned well cute."
She would have chuckled, but he didn't give her time to as his lips descended on hers passionately, slanting his mouth and pressing her head back into his shoulder as his tongue delved past lips and teeth to dual with her much more tentative one.
It wasn't a long kiss. He didn't want to overwhelm her – much, anyway – so he broke it off rather quickly, pressing his forehead to hers, relieved to realize that she, too, was breathing heavily. He thought it was a good sign. The wary look he'd seen flare in her eyes when he'd squatted down before her to touch her somewhat forwardly was tucked into the back of her eyes, despite his eager passion.
"Are we going to snog in the coatroom all night?" she asked pertly when his head came down again because he was unable to resist kissing her again. "I want to see the ranch! I've read about them all my life, but I've never been on one."
He knew he should be happy that she was interested at all, but he would have been just as happy to have snogged in the cloakroom all night, himself.
As Mace showed her around the place, his pride in it shone through in every word he
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