thing to feel no fear.
But it would also be nice to be able to move, she thought, smiling privately, before pushing at his shoulder and rolling him away. “What happened to hands and knees?”
“Eventually. But not today. Because after this, I’m going to be doing good to walk out of the house and finish all the work on tap for the afternoon.”
She turned to her side, her hands together on her pillow, her chin on top. “I hope you’re not blaming me for your weak knees.”
“Actually, I am. I heard you drive up, and came out of the barn ready to answer your questions—” He stopped, his eyes closing, his long lashes dark against his cheeks before he looked at her again.
But he didn’t say anything more. Just stared at her, his gaze sleepy and searching, and so she pressed, asking, “What changed your mind?”
“You,” he said, that gravel in his voice again. “You were standing there, your face to the sun, the wind blowing your hair and your top . . .” He went on, his voice dropping. “You were standing there, in the dirt, in those spiky heels without worrying that you might get ’em dusty, or step in a hole and go down, but like the ranch was where you belonged. That was unexpected. And that’s what changed my mind.”
She swallowed his words like bad medicine, staring at him, not knowing what to say because she didn’t want to hear that. She really did not want to hear that. She did not belong, not here or to him. She’d spent four years putting herself back together, and Boone’s return to Crow Hill was not going to derail her.
Yet when she looked at him, the longing in his expression fierce and raw, it nearly killed her not to acknowledge the admission he’d made, and to instead blithely say, “Believe it or not, I know how to look where I’m going.” She moved just enough to drop a quick kiss to his lips. “And I’ve been wearing heels almost every day for the last ten years of my life.”
“Guess you don’t buy them in Crow Hill,” he said, his tone resigned, the light in his eyes gone.
She’d done that, disappointed him, but it couldn’t be helped. “You guessed right.”
“You got any boots?”
She twisted her mouth to the side. “No, actually, but I’m thinking it’s time I buy a pair.”
“I’m thinking so, too.” He propped up his head with an arm tucked beneath. “Can’t take you horseback riding in heels.”
“You’re taking me horseback riding?”
“Thought I’d take you out to see my oil well.”
“Boone Mitchell.” She shifted up onto one elbow, pushed a fall of hair from her face. “Are you trying to impress me with your assets?”
“Thought that’s what I just did,” he said, reaching out to tweak a nipple.
She gave him a withering look. “You still owe me an interview, you know.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” she asked, slapping his hand, feeling the pop reverberate where he held her pinched tight. “You thought you could distract me with sex?”
“Something like that.”
“Uh-uh. Not happening. Though I think we’re going to have to conduct this interview in a public place.”
“Must be hell not being able to keep your hands to yourself.”
That
she wasn’t going to dignify with a response. Even if truer words had never been spoken. Not that she was the only one with the problem, she mused, reaching down to lift his hand from her breast. “Could you get away for supper tonight? At the Rainsong Cafe in Fever Tree?”
“Should be able to.”
“Do you want me to come by and pick you up?”
“And risk never making it to supper?”
Good thing one of them was thinking straight. “Then I’ll meet you there. What time?”
“Make it eight,” he said, covering her for a gorgeously smothering kiss that tasted of heat and sweat and salt; that had her melting beneath him, breathless, desperate, then rolling off the mattress and leaving her there as he walked naked out of the room.
She scampered out of the bed and into her bra
But it would also be nice to be able to move, she thought, smiling privately, before pushing at his shoulder and rolling him away. “What happened to hands and knees?”
“Eventually. But not today. Because after this, I’m going to be doing good to walk out of the house and finish all the work on tap for the afternoon.”
She turned to her side, her hands together on her pillow, her chin on top. “I hope you’re not blaming me for your weak knees.”
“Actually, I am. I heard you drive up, and came out of the barn ready to answer your questions—” He stopped, his eyes closing, his long lashes dark against his cheeks before he looked at her again.
But he didn’t say anything more. Just stared at her, his gaze sleepy and searching, and so she pressed, asking, “What changed your mind?”
“You,” he said, that gravel in his voice again. “You were standing there, your face to the sun, the wind blowing your hair and your top . . .” He went on, his voice dropping. “You were standing there, in the dirt, in those spiky heels without worrying that you might get ’em dusty, or step in a hole and go down, but like the ranch was where you belonged. That was unexpected. And that’s what changed my mind.”
She swallowed his words like bad medicine, staring at him, not knowing what to say because she didn’t want to hear that. She really did not want to hear that. She did not belong, not here or to him. She’d spent four years putting herself back together, and Boone’s return to Crow Hill was not going to derail her.
Yet when she looked at him, the longing in his expression fierce and raw, it nearly killed her not to acknowledge the admission he’d made, and to instead blithely say, “Believe it or not, I know how to look where I’m going.” She moved just enough to drop a quick kiss to his lips. “And I’ve been wearing heels almost every day for the last ten years of my life.”
“Guess you don’t buy them in Crow Hill,” he said, his tone resigned, the light in his eyes gone.
She’d done that, disappointed him, but it couldn’t be helped. “You guessed right.”
“You got any boots?”
She twisted her mouth to the side. “No, actually, but I’m thinking it’s time I buy a pair.”
“I’m thinking so, too.” He propped up his head with an arm tucked beneath. “Can’t take you horseback riding in heels.”
“You’re taking me horseback riding?”
“Thought I’d take you out to see my oil well.”
“Boone Mitchell.” She shifted up onto one elbow, pushed a fall of hair from her face. “Are you trying to impress me with your assets?”
“Thought that’s what I just did,” he said, reaching out to tweak a nipple.
She gave him a withering look. “You still owe me an interview, you know.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” she asked, slapping his hand, feeling the pop reverberate where he held her pinched tight. “You thought you could distract me with sex?”
“Something like that.”
“Uh-uh. Not happening. Though I think we’re going to have to conduct this interview in a public place.”
“Must be hell not being able to keep your hands to yourself.”
That
she wasn’t going to dignify with a response. Even if truer words had never been spoken. Not that she was the only one with the problem, she mused, reaching down to lift his hand from her breast. “Could you get away for supper tonight? At the Rainsong Cafe in Fever Tree?”
“Should be able to.”
“Do you want me to come by and pick you up?”
“And risk never making it to supper?”
Good thing one of them was thinking straight. “Then I’ll meet you there. What time?”
“Make it eight,” he said, covering her for a gorgeously smothering kiss that tasted of heat and sweat and salt; that had her melting beneath him, breathless, desperate, then rolling off the mattress and leaving her there as he walked naked out of the room.
She scampered out of the bed and into her bra
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