Love on the Line by Pamela Aares

. Where would a bus driver get experience with an exquisite two-thousand-dollar espresso machine? Her dad had a fetish: he owned nearly every high-end espresso machine known to man. Next to collecting impressionist art, coffee and its accoutrements were his passion.
    “I saw one demoed at a kitchen store,” she said, backpedaling. And it was true—she had seen the demo. And her dad had bought three of the machines, one for each of his houses. “Mind if I give it a go?”
    He nodded, and she unplugged the machine. She took the towel from him and levered the filter off the machine. He’d put it on crooked, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She emptied it, tamped in fresh coffee and snugged the filter back on.
    Ryan handed her two large mugs. “I’ll need that much after all this. And you’ll need your strength for the back forty.”
    She drew out two steaming half mugs of coffee.
    “Milk?” She pointed to the steam wand.
    “Way too dangerous.” He grinned. “Besides, I like mine black.”
    She didn’t, but she decided not to fuss with the steamer. One cup of black coffee wasn’t going to kill her.
    She handed him the mug, and her fingers brushed his. A brief touch like that shouldn’t send a ripple of want deep into her. But it did. If she didn’t get out of the kitchen and put some space between them, she just might throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. And probably make a total fool of herself.
    “Let’s have that hike you promised.” She pulled her mug to her chest like a shield.
    “Want to see the barns?” He said it like a kid wanting to show off a new toy. His enthusiasm for the ranch charmed her.
    They walked across the gravel drive. Though they didn’t touch, she was aware of his every move beside her. An energy arced between them, an energy that she didn’t, couldn’t, trust. How could she when she’d never even known such power was possible? But already the fluttering in her chest warned that she might fall into the spell that filtered through her whenever he was near, and never come out again.
    Suddenly the folly of accepting his invitation weighed on her. Allowing herself to be carried away would be the worst possible move she could make at a time like this. He was a star, a public figure. If word got out, the press would be all over them both.
    She stopped and sipped her coffee. And tried to think. He stopped too. And smiled at her before sipping from his mug. His smile trumped her urge for self-protection; it was too late to turn back. But she’d be cautious as she moved ahead.
    “You make a fine cup of coffee, Cara West.”
    His voice caressed her, whether he’d intended it to or not.
    She smiled her thanks, not trusting her voice.
    He threw open the doors to the smaller barn, smaller being a matter of perspective. Inside, just beyond the gleaming Bugatti, was a pool table and beyond that a net cage suspended from steel pipes that stretched the length of the back wall.
    “The pool table’s an antique from the eighteen hundreds. The guy who sold it to me said maybe it had been used in one of the gaming halls during the Gold Rush. The cue sticks are hand carved.”
    This was the Ryan she’d expected. Though he wasn’t throwing dollar signs around, he was trying to impress her. The effort was wasted on her, but he couldn’t know that. She’d seen far too many people get caught up in the drive to acquire things, as if they could fill a gap that would make them feel whole, make them feel worthy, attractive and successful, make them feel that they’d arrived or that their lives had meaning. She’d watched Laci fight that battle and lose. And she’d nearly bottomed out in that world herself.
    “And that’s a state-of-the-art batting cage,” he said with a touch of pride as he pointed to the massive structure at the back of the barn. “It’ll help me stay in shape during the off-season, but I’m hoping I can get the kids from the team in here over the winter. See