He set down his cup and rose from his chair enough to lean across the table. “Come here.”
She swallowed hard and just like he had, set down her cup. She rose and leaned toward him over the chicken and the salad until they were mere inches apart.
His voice was low. “Can I call you Bella yet?”
The sweet heat that had slid into her veins slipped into her heart. “Yes.”
He leaned two inches closer.
So did she.
Then his lips touched hers and the knowledge was suddenly just there.
Filling her.
I could love this man.
Not just a crush. Not just infatuation.
Seriously love him. As in good times and bad. As in now and forever.
He pulled back slightly then. His eyes searched hers.
Even though she’d been certain she hadn’t said the words aloud, she felt her cheeks warm. “What?”
“I’m really glad your battery died that day.”
She smiled. “So am I.”
“But—” His gaze dropped. “You’re smashing the grub.”
She looked down, too, then and realized she’d planted her hand right in the middle of the bowl of potato salad. “Oh, for crying out loud!”
He gave a bark of laughter and kissed her again. “Bathroom’s upstairs.”
Even though she had mayonnaise and bits of potato stuck beneath her fingernails, she was pretty sure she floated up the stairs.
The bathroom was as lovely as the rest of the place, with a separate tub and shower that both looked out over the top of the water wheel. She washed her hands and controlled the urge to peek into the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Her dress had a gold zipper from the top of its scooped neckline to the hem that hit her midthigh. Feeling breathless, she lowered the zip a few inches. Then looked at her raccoon-reflection and yanked it back up where it belonged and left the room.
The wide bed occupying most of the loft was covered in a deep blue spread. A chest of drawers was situated beneath another one of the horizontal-style windows. A pair of cowboy boots lay haphazardly on a rug similar to the one downstairs and a guitar was propped in a corner with a couple shirts tossed carelessly across it.
At least there were signs of his occupancy. As well as the fact that he didn’t put his clothes away any better than she did.
She was still smiling when she went back downstairs.
He’d cleared the table. “Honey, I did the dishes.”
She laughed. “What a hero.”
“I try.” His eyes crinkled. “What do you want to do now?”
Muss up your neatly made bed?
The words only sounded inside her head, though. “Show me the horses?”
He smiled slowly. “As much as I appreciate the outfit, you’re not exactly dressed for riding.”
“That’s okay. I don’t know how to ride, anyway.”
He pressed his palm to his chest. “You’re killing me. You’re in Texas, sweetheart. That’s something we’ll have to rectify as soon as possible.”
Any reason to spend time with him was okay with her. “That doesn’t mean we can’t go look at them now, does it?”
In answer, he took her hand in his and he led her back outside where it was even more hot and humid thanks to the clouds that had rolled in. They crossed the short bridge that arched over the stream and ducked between the rails of the white fence to cross the pasture toward the three light brown horses standing still on the far side of the field. They would have looked identical if not for the white markings on their faces.
Jay gave a soft whistle and the one with the smallest mark flicked its dark tail jauntily and trotted toward them, not stopping until it butted his head against Jay’s upraised palm. “This is Loretta. Looking good for a thirty-year-old lady.”
“Thirty!”
“Year older ’n me. I learned to ride on her. Almost before I could walk.” He tugged Arabella closer and guided her fingers to the white mark. “She likes her star rubbed. Right there.”
Arabella rubbed her fingertips against the smooth white hair and Loretta’s liquid brown eyes turned in her direction. She felt strangely moved knowing that the old horse had borne a small, young Jay on her back. “I didn’t realize horses lived so long.”
“Some do.” Jay ran his hand down the horse’s gleaming shoulder. “She’s pampered and healthy. Hopefully she’s got a lot more years left in her.”
As if in answer, Loretta butted her nose against his shoulder.
He laughed and stuck his hand in the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a peppermint. He barely managed to unwrap it before the horse nipped it out of his fingers.
By then, the other two horses had plodded forward, too. “Waylon,” Jay said as he pointed out the one with a long narrow stripe down his nose, “and Willie.” He dropped another candy in Arabella’s hand. “Unwrap it and hold it flat in your palm.”
She did as instructed and Willie’s velvety lips rubbed against her palm as he took the peppermint. She giggled and scrubbed her palm down her side. “Tickles.”
Jay chuckled. “Here.” He unwrapped the third peppermint and handed it to her. “Waylon isn’t quite as polite as Willie,” he warned.
She eagerly presented her palm with the candy in the center and Waylon butted against Willie to get to it, and left a slobbery smear behind once he did.
“Definitely not as polite.” Arabella wrinkled her nose, laughing. “Your grandmother must really like country music. Considering their names, I mean.”
Jay pulled out his shirttail and wiped her hand dry. “She’s more of a Sinatra fan. My grandfather was the one who named them. They got Willie and Waylon as foals not long before he died.” He patted his empty pocket for the benefit of the horses. “All gone, my friends.”
Waylon and Willie bobbed their heads and plodded away.
Loretta remained, though, seeming content with the brush of Jay’s hand on her back.
Arabella slowly stroked the horse’s back, her hand following Jay’s. “It’s no wonder your grandmother doesn’t want to give them up.”
“She never will as long as I have something to say about it.”
Her heart squeezed. “You’re a good grandson.”
His lips twisted slightly. “Not as good as I should have been.” He looked over her head toward the barn but Arabella had the sense he was focused elsewhere.
She held her hand still on Loretta’s back, knowing his hand would bump into hers. “Why?”
She wasn’t sure he’d answer at first. But then his gaze shifted to her face. “I was so focused on my own life I couldn’t even make time to get back to celebrate holidays. Birthdays. Then when everything went to hell—” He glanced up when thunder rumbled softly overhead.
She slid her fingers through his, keeping his hand on Loretta’s back when he would have pulled away. “What went to hell?”
He frowned. “Arabella.”
She winced, wishing for Bella again. “Does it have to do with Detective Teas?”
“Teas?” He frowned even more and his lips thinned. “He thinks I had something to do with the balcony collapse at the hotel.”
It took a moment for his abrupt words to sink in. To make sense. “That’s ridiculous!”
“I know it is, but why do you think so?”
She turned toward him and settled her palms on his chest. Even through his shirt, she could feel the solid warmth of him. “Because I know you.”
He gathered her hands beneath his. His eyes searched hers with a sudden urgency that pulled at her. “What do you know?”
“I know you put your family first.”
He started to shake his head and she curled her fingertips into his chest. Even Loretta cooperated, conveniently shifting her considerable size behind him so that he cou
ldn’t back away from Arabella. “Maybe you didn’t always, but you do now. And now is what I know. I know you’re a hard worker. You’re loyal to the hotel.” She took a step closer until their hands were caught between their bodies. “And I know how you make me feel.”
Something else entered his green eyes. Something warm. Something heady. “And how is that?”
She stood on her toes and pulled his head down close enough to press her mouth to his. She put everything she had into that kiss. All of her emotion. All of her yearning. And when she finally went down off her toes again, her heart was hammering so hard inside her chest he couldn’t fail to feel it. “Like that,” she whispered huskily.
He drew a finger down her cheek. “You’re too good for me.”
She shook her head. Reached up and kissed him a second time. Went back down on her heels and had to hold on to him just to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
His jaw flexed. She knew he wanted her, too. She could feel it. Not just in the hardness of his body but in the heat of his eyes. In the tension of his hands as they roved down her back.
But still, he was holding back and her frustration rose in her throat.
She went up on her toes a third time. She stopped shy of kissing him, though. Need was a hot hollow cramping inside her. “Do I need to strip off my dress right here, Jay? I’m on the Pill. Perfectly safe, I promise you.”
He groaned slightly. “Bella.”
“I will,” she warned—promised—huskily. “One zip is all it takes.” To prove it, she reached between them to tug at the zipper.
“No.” His hand caught hers, stopping her.
Her dismay never had a chance to get off the ground, though, because he suddenly reversed their positions until it was her back pressed against Loretta’s stalwart side.
“I want to do it,” he said gruffly. His fingers brushed against hers as he took over.
Her breath came hard in her chest as she stared up at him. Every nerve ending she possessed stood at high alert, sending frenzied little charges in accompaniment to her pounding heartbeat as he lowered the zipper tab with excruciating slowness. Her dress loosened tooth-by-tooth and she sucked in an aching breath when he took a step back and lowered to one knee as he continued pulling down the zipper. Right to the very bottom of her hem. Then he tugged one last time and the zipper separated altogether.
He exhaled audibly and his hands slid under the denim, settling first on her waist for a long moment before slowly sliding behind her back, drawing her toward him again.
She shuddered, drowning in desire. When he rested his forehead against her belly, she ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair. In that moment, there was something intimate and impossibly vulnerable about him. The slightly sunburned skin at the nape of his neck below his short hair. The long sweep of his spine, just visible beneath the gape of his shirt collar.
Loretta shifted then, pushing so hard against Arabella that she lost her balance and fell forward against Jay, taking him right with her down to the tall, sweet grass.
He caught Arabella against him, his eyes glinting. “Good old Loretta. Always has my back.”
Arabella laughed softly as she tried to sit up, but Jay just caught her hips in his hands to keep her in place, sitting right there on top of him.
Then he pressed hard against her and her laughter died. Her dress had slipped down one arm and was barely hanging on to her other shoulder. And even though she’d been the one threatening to strip, now that she was all but nude in front of him, she was acutely aware of how she must look. No bra. A pair of white bikini panties with pink sunglasses printed all over them.
She started to pull the dress together but he shook his head. “Don’t.” In fact, he curled his fingers in the dress fabric as if to make sure she couldn’t.
Her skin tingled. She didn’t think her nipples could get any tighter, but they did. Inside, however, she was simply liquefying.
“Undo your hair.”
She moistened her lips and tried not to reveal how shaky she suddenly felt as she raised her hands to her ponytail and worked the thin band free. Her hair fell down around her shoulders.
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about you?” His fingers flexed against her hips and his voice deepened even more. “Dreamed about you?”
Thunder murmured again but it didn’t matter since she was suddenly incapable of speech, anyway.
“Months.” His eyes were almost as green as the grass surrounding him. “And more months. And then there you were. In Rambling Rose. At the police station.”
It dawned on her then. She pressed her palm flat against his abdomen and felt his muscles bunch. “Was that why you were so unfriendly? Were you there because of the balcony collapse?”
“I warned you that you’re too good for me.”
She was shaking her head even before he finished speaking. “I’m perfect for you and you know it.”
His dimple appeared suddenly. “Now who’s confident?”
She could only attribute her sudden wealth of self-assurance to him. Particularly when she slowly rocked her hips against his. “Does that feel perfect?”
His eyes darkened and the edge of his white teeth showed as he inhaled audibly. “Getting close to it.” He deftly slid his hand between them, fingers curling unerringly beneath her panties to find her.
Then she was the one to catch her breath.
“Even closer,” he murmured.
And then she couldn’t think anything at all. All she could do was feel. His fingers on her. In her. Driving her right to the edge of insanity only to pull back and taunt her even more until she was so desperate that she mindlessly caught his hand in hers, pressing his fingers against her until finally, finally, the pressure inside her escaped.
His exultant groan worked through her as she collapsed in a heap against his chest. But even then there was little rest because he rolled until it was her back cradled in the lush grass. Her eyes staring up at the clouds overhead. He kissed her again. And again. On her lips. On her breasts. On her navel and her big toe and every point in between.
She wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten rid of her panties, much less his own clothes, but it didn’t matter because he was there, pressing inside her, filling her more perfectly than she could have ever imagined.
She wrapped her legs around him. Her arms around him. Took him into every cell of her soul, and when the ecstasy was almost more than she could withstand, his eyes met hers.
“Now.” His voice was breathless. Raw. Beautiful. “Now, we’re perfect.”
She threw back her head, and together, they flew.
Chapter Eleven
The sweat on their bodies didn’t even have a chance to cool when the sky suddenly opened.
Arabella jerked when the first big raindrop plopped squarely between her eyes. “What?”
Jay jerked and swore, too, because that first big plop was immediately followed by a couple million more.
Arabella could only sit there and giggle as he darted around, trying to gather up their bits of clothing that had decided to take flight thanks to the wind that sprang up as unexpectedly as the rain.
“Big help you are.” He was laughing too as he hitched up his jeans and swiped his face at the same time.
She giggled even harder, trying vainly to rezip her dress.
“Oh, hell.” He grabbed her hand. “Just come on.”
And so they ran, half dressed, half not, back to his barn, where they left their clothes in a wet heap on the floor inside the door before chasing up the stairs, where Arabella was all too happy to muss up his neatly made bed but good.
After, they slept for a while. Then Jay brought up the rest of his grandmother’s fried chicken and they polished it off lying right there on the bed as they watched the rai
n pour and pour and pour outside the horizontal windows.
He was facedown, stretched out diagonally across the wide bed. She was stretched out atop him and she idly traced the tattoo on his shoulder blade. She was no musician, but even she recognized the stylized image as intertwined music clefs. She reached out to point at the laundry-laden guitar in the corner and rather less-than-absently enjoyed the feel of his spine against her breast. So much so, that she wriggled slightly again, just to repeat the pleasure. “Do you play that?”
He didn’t even bother to look where she was pointing. “Not anymore.” He folded his arms beneath his cheek and closed his eyes.
She slid along his back, enjoying the feel of that, too, until she could hook her chin over his shoulder. His lashes were so long she was a little jealous. “Why not?”
His lips curved. He didn’t open his eyes. “I’m not very good at it.”
“What about the piano downstairs?”
“My mom was a teacher, remember?”
She kissed a bony protrusion in his shoulder. “Doesn’t mean that she taught you how to play.”
“She did.”
“Is that what the tattoo is about? Ode to your mother?”
* * *
Jay glanced at the guitar. It was an old one. Back from the days when he’d first started out. “Isn’t that what good Texan sons do? Get tats in honor of their mamas?” He reached his hand behind him and closed it unerringly over her thigh. It was warm. Sleek. And he recalled the sprinkle of freckles just above her knee. “Keep rubbing against me like you’re doing and neither one of us is going to be able to walk for a week.”
She, though, slid her hands over him as if she were luxuriating in the feel of his hairy arms as much as he luxuriated in the feel of her smooth, strong thighs. “Would that be so bad?”
His laugh was a little choked. “I’m a man, honey. What do you think?”
In answer, she slowly slid back down him again, the hard points of her nipples like points of fire every inch of the way.
Then her toes tickled the arches of his feet and he grunted, yanking them away.
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