by Jill Shalvis
“—think I’m a three-legged pig who needs a stable.”
She moved fast, and might have gotten away if he hadn’t grabbed her hand, might have fought him if he hadn’t held on.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“Hold on.” Her breath sounded funny as she struggled for control, and his heart slipped. “No, don’t…” He took her shoulders and gently pulled her resisting body close. For comfort, nothing more, but he realized the mistake instantly, as there was far more than comfort at work here. She was soft against him, so soft, and she burrowed close, burying her face in his shoulder as she struggled with composure.
So strong. So alone. To soothe, he stroked a hand over her hair, down her slim spine.
You’re asking for trouble, man, in a big way.
It didn’t seem to matter, not when she sniffed and burrowed a little closer, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.
“I was trying too hard.” Her words whispered against his skin. “You’d probably would have rather been eating peanut butter and jelly.”
“No.” Her soft, warm lips against his flesh were killing him slowly. “We just didn’t know what you were dishing out, that’s all.”
What she was dishing out now, with just this one embrace, was going to give him a king-size heart attack any second now.
“I’m sorry,” she said on a sigh. “I’m just ever so tired of making a fool of myself.” But she snuggled closer, heating his body. “I was just having so much fun being needed for a change. At home, I’m important, but not needed.” She sighed again, still against his skin, and he nearly went to his knees. “You have no idea how nice it is. To be needed.”
Needed.
Whoa. Big mental step back.
When had it gone from her needing him to him needing her?
With a good amount of shock, he lifted his head.
She lifted hers, too, and for one moment they hovered like that, their lips a fraction of an inch apart, until one of them—he had no idea which one—closed the gap.
Then they were kissing as if their lives depended on it. And in that moment, his did.
7
COMING UP FOR AIR, Natalia pulled back a fraction. Her mouth was wet, her eyes slumberous, her fingers entangled in the hair at the back of Tim’s neck. The look on her face nearly undid him.
“Don’t take this wrong,” she murmured, sending delicious shivers down his spine with her fingers, “but I’ve been wondering what that would be like.”
The admission was as big a turn-on as her kiss had been. He slid his hands over her hips. “Yeah?”
“Did you wonder, too?”
No. He hadn’t wondered. He’d been too busy. Hadn’t he? “After that kiss, I can think of little else other than doing it again.”
“Again would work for me.”
He was smiling when he kissed her this time. Smiling. He couldn’t remember ever doing that while kissing a woman before. Her body against his felt good, and he pressed closer for more of it, sliding his hands beneath the flannel and over the soft curves he’d been thinking about all day—
He had been thinking about her all day. About this.
At his low, surprised laugh she pulled back. “What?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing.” He leaned in for more kisses but she slapped a hand on his chest.
“You stopped to laugh.”
“No, I—”
“Let me give you a hint about women, Tim. Laughing at their kissing technique is bad form.”
Uh-oh. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Honest. Now come here.”
“For what? More kissing? You’d still be doing just that if you hadn’t laughed.”
“I laughed at me. Okay? I didn’t realize until now that I have been thinking about you all day.”
“And this is funny because…”
“It’s not funny, believe me.” He held her hands when she would have turned away. “It’s distracting.”
“Not exactly a compliment.”
“No?” He stepped close again. “How’s this for a compliment? You’re making me hot. All the time. I fantasize in the middle of a workday about you, about this, about us. About things I’ve convinced myself I don’t need.”
“I don’t need them, either.”
“Okay.” He took a breath. “So we both fantasize, but…”
She sighed. “There’s always a but.”
“But my life isn’t exactly laid out for this.”
“And mine is?” She laughed and shook her head. “No, it is not. Believe me.”
“Natalia, everything I am, everything I do, is this ranch. Women have tried to fit in here with me before, but they get tired of playing second fiddle to this place, and…well, I’m left alone and disappointed.”
“I’m sorry for that, more than sorry, but I’m temporary.”
“Exactly. So what the hell are we doing?”
“I don’t know. Scratching an itch?”
“Scratching an—” Shocked, he stared at her. “Where did you learn such a thing?”
“Oh, I see.” Her eyes chilled. “It’s one thing for a man to suggest an affair. But if a woman…if she has…”
“An itch?”
“Never mind! Just forget it.”
“Wait.” His head was still spinning. “Now I’ve insulted you.”
She sputtered, then laughed. Then, before he could so much as blink, she shoved away from him and turned her back, staring up at the moon, her arms wrapped tightly around the body he’d been molding with his hands only a few moments ago.
“Natalia.” A little wary, he came up behind her, set his hands on her shoulders, which she promptly shrugged off. “Let’s try this again.”
“Okay.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It was stupid.”
“No,” he said, looking at her beautiful profile. “It wasn’t.”
“But just because I thought about…scratching that itch, you should know, it wasn’t a declaration of undying love.” She dropped her gaze from the moon and landed those huge, dark gold, expressive eyes on him. “I wouldn’t expect you to love me.”
His heart twisted. “Natalia—”
“It’s a one-night stand, Tim, that’s all. Only technically, I have several nights, not just one.”
His body responded immediately, but it took his brain a moment longer. “You deserve more than that. You deserve time, and a man taking it to get to know you.”
“You want to know me? How’s this? I’m the middle kid. I’m usually pretty easygoing, that is when I’m not in Texas. And contrary to what I’ve shown you, I’m known as being pretty damn tough and fearless. And though you might not believe that by looking at me at the moment—” she broke off to glance down at her plain jeans and T-shirt “—I’m into clothes. I also love to ski. Unfortunately for me, Texas doesn’t seem to have many hills.” She smiled, but when he just looked at her, it slowly faded. “And I’m a princess, which brings us back to the delusional crazy woman thing. I’d nearly forgotten. I’m just another one of your pity hires.”
“Natalia—”
“No.” With dignity, she backed away. “In a few more days I’ll have earned myself enough to get where I need to go, which is all I really wanted. To see what it was like to be just me, without any expectations or preconceived notions. To support myself. Without the title. End of story.” She reached the gate. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but I think we should get back to the boss-and-employee relationship.” And with her head high, shoulders extremely straight, she walked toward the house.
Looking every bit like a princess in denim.
NATALIA MANAGED to avoid conversation with Tim before breakfast the next morning. She was no longer mad. Or even hurt.
But she did feel wiser. Apparently, in this so-called modern country, no matter what the men claimed, they didn’t want to be come on to. She’d remember that the next time her hormones kicked into overdrive.
She baked a
dish she remembered from school, similar to the American quiche, which despite its plain ingredients, was quite spicy and exotic. It came out excellent, if she said so herself.
But Tim stared down at the plate she served him. “You, uh…didn’t decide to poison me for last night, did you?”
Sally lifted her head. “What happened last night?”
Natalia took a bite of the delicious, hot meal.
“Hello?” Sally said. “Last night?”
Tim looked at Natalia.
Natalia took another bite.
Sally frowned. “Oh, man.” She pointed at Tim. “You. You’re an idiot.”
He didn’t take his eyes off Natalia. “I’m well aware of that, thank you.”
Sally turned to Natalia with a questioning look.
Natalia simply continued to eat.
Until Sally leaned close. “Stop messing with his head or I’ll mess with yours.”
“So charming in the morning.” Natalia took another bite and smiled sweetly at the men. “Isn’t she? Are you always that way, Sally, or is it just me?”
“It’s you.” Sally lifted her fork, sniffed at the food, then set it down with a clatter. “You’ve never heard of simple scrambled eggs?” Shoving away from the table, she pulled a five out of her pocket and tossed it toward Seth. “I’ll expect you in the barn. Come supplied.” She left without another word.
Natalia left the table, too, and went into the kitchen to check on the bread. When she came back out, the food was gone. So was everyone else.
At least she was doing something right, she thought with a spurt of satisfaction at the empty table. Just because Tim and Sally obviously had no taste whatsoever meant nothing.
Back in the kitchen, she turned on the sink faucet. Contrary to what most people thought of a day in the life of a princess, she did know how to do dishes. She could also do her own laundry, bathe and feed herself. Shocking.
She looked out the window at the great day. She was up to her elbows in greasy dishwater, she was exhausted from getting up before the crack of dawn, but she wouldn’t have traded any of it for the world.
Not even the kiss.
Nope, no regrets. Besides, she’d be gone before she knew it. Back to her life, her very busy, fulfilling life, where she’d never look back—
Oh, who was she kidding? She would look back. She’d smile and get misty all at the same time, because she’d had the time of her life here.
All in spite of one gorgeous, sexy, stubborn Timothy Banning.
She stared out in the yard, yearning for a quick sight of him, maybe working his horse. Riding. Walking. Breathing.
She could watch him breathe all day long.
He didn’t feel the same.
How was that for humility? Amelia always said she needed more of that in her life. Well, she had plenty now, didn’t she?
In the pen in the yard, in front of her, the blind goat walked into the three-legged pig. The pig fell over and then struggled to get up, but he did get up.
Only to have the goat do it again. Now the pig was squealing like a…well, pig. He was stuck on his side, his three little legs peddling the air ineffectively, like a bug on its back, while the goat nudged at it as if in apology.
Natalia’s heart tripped at the sight of the pig struggling. “Damn it.” She watched another moment. “I’m not going out there,” she said to no one. “I’m not.”
But the pig continued to struggle. She grabbed a bag of leftovers she’d been saving and went into the yard. For a long moment she stood in front of the pen, trying to breathe normally. This was a perfectly easy thing to do, she told herself. Perfectly easy. Just open the pen and walk in.
Slowly, she let herself into the pen and…stepped into something brown, squishy and distinctly stinky. “Uck!” She lifted her foot until it came free with a terrible suction noise, and with considerable less enthusiasm, stepped toward the still-thrashing pig.
“Hey.”
It didn’t respond. “Slow down,” she said. “Have you tried that?” Actually forgetting her fear, she hunkered at his side just as he got traction in the mud.
Coming to a stand at a run, he plowed into her on his way to run circles around the blind goat. Not for the first time, Natalia fell to her bottom, right in the muck.
Towering over her, the goat chewed on something green. Then suddenly the pig charged it, charged her, and her fear reinvented itself with a scream as she dived out of the way chest first.
The goat, still being charged by the pig, waited until the precise moment to nudge its head into the oncoming animal.
Who once again fell to its side.
“You.” Natalia pushed up to a sit. “Stop that.” Struggling to her feet, she tried not to feel the gross, icky stuff that was now on her hands as well as her bottom.
The pig was up now, and running circles around the goat, who bleated noisily, over the obnoxious squealing of the pig. The horse, old and crickety, just stood and watched the entire circus, slowly rotating her jaw as she chomped down on grass.
Fear had to take a back seat to the fact that Natalia couldn’t hear herself think. “Order,” she demanded in her most royal voice, but all she heard was very male laughter from behind her.
Tim, of course. Because apparently she hadn’t experienced quite enough humility.
He stood just outside the pen, his forearms resting on the wood, one leg bent at the knee, his boot on a fence rung. His eyes were crinkled with good humor at her expense, his mouth curved wide.
She refused to acknowledge the way her pulse tripped at the sight of him. “Did you know your goat is a bully? And she’s a fake blind? She’s torturing your pig, poor little guy.”
“First of all, he’s a she. And she’s a he. Should I show you how you tell?” He grinned that unbearably sexy grin of his. “And by the way, they’re the best of friends. They’re just playing. Pickles loves—”
“Pickles?”
He looked a little chagrined as he scratched his head. “Not my choice, the goat came with the name. And he’s nearly blind, but not completely. Mrs. Pig likes him, trust me.”
“They’re trying to kill each other.”
“No. Watch—” He opened the gate, and sure enough, Mrs. Pig gently nudged Pickles in the right direction, making sure she came out first.
“Want to pet them?” Tim asked as they mobbed him for attention.
“Of course not.”
“Right.” He managed to pet all of them equally. “Because you don’t like animals.”
“That’s correct.” Better he think she didn’t like them than to know she was afraid of them.
“Ah,” he said with a secret smile.
She put her hands on her hips, then remembered what was on those hands and hastily dropped them to her sides. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re a big, fancy liar, Princess.” He leaned close, too close, so that she could smell soap and hay and horse, and warm, clean man.
“I never lie.” Rarely, anyway.
“Which is why, of course, you’ve been feeding these guys. Because you don’t like them.”
She glanced down at the bag of leftovers sticking out her pocket, but he just laughed softly, in that low, husky way he had that made her insides go all liquidy. “Is there a point to this conversation?”
He just lifted a brow, while her entire body had become so hyperaware of him that she had goose bumps and nipples standing at attention.
This attraction was getting the best of her.
“The point is,” he said patiently, “you act tough, you dress tough, but inside you’re just as soft as the rest of us.”
She tried to come up with some retort and failed.
“I can tell you’re not used to this world,” he said softly. “But you don’t seem big city, either, despite yourself.” From the other side of the fence, he slid a finger up her ear and all her silver hoops, then touched her hair, which she hadn’t spiked in two days. “Who are you, Natali
a?”
Wasn’t that just the problem? She no longer knew. She’d been happy with her life, but these past few days, hard and difficult and different as they’d been, had showed her all she’d missed with her rather sheltered existence. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said. “Nearly lunchtime.” She was out the gate and halfway across the yard before he called her name.
She stopped, but didn’t turn to look at him, afraid she’d weaken and let him do whatever he wanted, which a very bad part of her hoped was something sexual.
“Might want to wash your hands first,” he said. “Before you put lunch together.”
She looked down at her hands. So much for what he wanted, and so much for it being sexual. “It would serve you right if I didn’t,” she muttered and kept going.
BY DINNERTIME, it was raining. Natalia had discovered that the weather in Texas, whether sunny or raining or thundering or whatever, was…big.
Squinting out into the yard while shaping meatballs, She could see Pickles standing in the downpour. Alone. Looking wet and miserable and lost.
“Oh, you damn fool.” She set down a meatball and willed the stupid goat to find his way back to the others, who stood protected beneath a tree.
But no. The goat just stood there and let out a pathetic little bleat she could hear all the way in the house.
She shaped some more meatballs, refusing to look. “Not looking,” she said out loud. But she couldn’t help it.
He was still there.
More rain fell.
Pickles slowly tipped his head up and bleated louder. Sadder.
“Oh, for God’s sake, get under the tree!” she yelled out to him.
He didn’t budge.
Natalia washed her hands. Turned off the stove. Waited for the mentally challenged goat to get a clue. Finally, she stepped out into the pouring rain. “What do you think you’re doing?” she called from the porch. “Get under the tree! Scat! Run! Get moving!”
He lifted his head and stared blindly in her direction.
Damn. She ran toward him. “Go on!”
He just blinked in her general direction.
“Good goat,” she said, patting him awkwardly. “Don’t eat me.” She tried to pull him in the right direction. “This way.”