by Sonja Gunter
Rosalind’s eyes flew open as a rush of air drifted into the shower. Allan, naked as a jaybird, held the shower curtain open, devouring her with his gaze.
“I thought you already took a shower,” she stuttered.
“I did, but you were taking too long. So here I am. I came to join you.”
“I didn’t invite you.” Even as she spoke with fake calmness, Rosalind had caught the huskiness in his voice and could see the evidence of his desire.
“Can’t you picture it? Our bodies entwined with water splashing on us.”
“Maybe where you come from, City Boy, sharing a shower is a common thing. But here, we take ours alone.”
I’m having a conversation with a naked man in my bathroom. Lordy—lordy, what next?
She grabbed for the curtain, but his hand stopped her. He held onto it and reached into the stream of water with his other hand.
“A cold shower?”
Rosalind lied, “Yes, I like to take one before bed.”
He stepped over the tub wall, and turned the knob to hot. “I need to show you how this is done.”
The curtain slipped from her grasp as her wet, cold body touched his, then molded to the contours of his, dry and warm. She did what she didn’t want to do and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Show me what you got, mister.”
“Rosalind . . .”
He claimed her lips in a savage, yet searching kiss, doing the impossible, making love standing with a curtain of water cascading on their skin.
It was so erotic; his kisses, his hands, the water, acting as one unit. She felt like an untamed filly. Her desire took on a new dimension.
“Allan, now.”
He lifted her and entered her in one smooth thrust. She held onto him with her legs wrapped around his waist, as one climax after another took her to new plateaus. A hot tide of passion raged through them both.
Their needs satisfied, Allan teased, “I believe we’re done here.”
She loosened the grip of her legs and stood on weak knees. He held her pressed against him and turned off the water. Rosalind kept her eyes closed as he carried her from the warmth of the bathroom. Her wet skin chilled. He laid her gently on her bed.
“You forgot the towels.”
“Didn’t think we needed them,” he joked, then joined her.
She eased over next to him, their naked bodies touching. Allan pulled the feather-down quilt over their damp bodies. Without any coaxing, she snuggled closer to him, not wanting him to leave.
“Do you want to me to go?”
“You’re finished?” Rosalind sighed. “Is that all you got?”
“No, I thought you might be tired,” he confessed.
“As I see it, the night is young.”
“In that case, I’ll make love to you slowly and make you plead for me to take you, to satisfy your ache. And when I do, you’ll beg me for more.”
“Is that a dare?” She whispered into his ear.
His response was to take her hardened nipple into his mouth. She moaned and her hands caressed his muscular shoulders.
“You’re very beautiful, Rosalind.”
She grinned. “Is this part of your so-called seduction?”
This time he left a trail of kisses to her abdomen, then to the tattoo on her hip.
“Let me mend your broken heart,” Allan murmured.
At that, Rosalind lost her private battle of resistance.
They made love several times during the night, each better than the previous. They found each other’s secrets and learned new ones, together.
She didn’t want the morning to arrive.
Chapter 28
Rosalind didn’t have to look at the time when she awoke. Her internal clock was right on target every morning. Five-thirty. She’d been rising before the sun since she’d been a young girl.
Stretching, she reached for Allan. The spot next to her was empty and cold.
What a wondrous night they’d had. His kisses enticed her to want more and more. His sweet touch melted her desire into a liquid pool of longing.
I’ll remember last night for the rest of my life . . . even after he’s gone.
Rosalind hugged herself. A slow, satisfying smile spread across her lips, still swollen and tender. He’d been gentle yet sometimes demanding during their lovemaking, always making sure she’d been completely satisfied before giving in to his own pleasures.
Four times we made love. Not sex, but love.
She lifted the pillow he’d slept on to her face and sniffed. His musky, woodsy scent engulfed her. Rosalind lazily sat, tossed the pillow aside, and glanced at the clock.
Five-fifty. Shit, Max would kill her. She’d promised to be on time.
She scrambled off the bed and dressed. In the hallway, she took a fleeting look at Allan’s closed door.
“Mister, you and I have unfinished business,” she muttered.
The aroma of brewing coffee caught her attention as she headed down the stairs and greeted Helen.
“Good morning, thanks for the coffee. No time to talk. Max will have my hide if I’m late.”
“Breakfast will be at seven-thirty.” Helen stirred a mixture in a bowl.
“Right. Bye.”
Rosalind strolled to the barn, enjoying the morning and sipping her coffee, when a wild thought crossed her mind. Would Max be able to tell she’d spent the night making love to the sexiest man she’d ever known?
Allan lay in his bed, missing the warmth of Rosalind’s body pressed against his. He’d heard movement from her room and realized he’d left in the nick of time. Since she hadn’t exactly invited him into her bed, he’d thought it best to leave before she awoke.
Should he have declared his love? No, it was too soon.
A beeping noise from his computer interrupted his thoughts. Throwing off the warm covers, Allan reluctantly left the bed. When his feet touched the cold floor, he swore. It reminded him he needed to buy some slippers. He didn’t own a pair, but was tired of cold feet, and until she asked him to stay the night in her room, he’d be bed hopping.
He’d begun to sift through reports and data from Tiffany and Paul when Rosalind’s voice drifted in from outside. Allan pushed back the chair and went to the window. It appeared she’d just finished a run and was about to take Dawn through the course again. The thrill of watching her ride was as exhilarating as the first time he’d seen her in Las Vegas.
I’m glad I didn’t sign the divorce papers. If I had, I’d never have met the woman who stole my heart.
Without a second thought or a glance at his unopened emails, Allan dressed and rushed outside.
He leaned on the fence next to Max. Both of them kept their eyes glued to Rosalind as she rounded the second barrel. “How’s she doing?”
“Her time is slow. Her posture is slouched. Dawn needs to be run more and Rosalind needs to arrive on time,” Max retorted.
Allan looked sideways at Max’s raised eyebrows and clenched jaw. What was with these Minnesotans being so straightforward?
Max’s casual words hadn’t slipped past him. Allan ignored the comment and stared at Rosalind. What happened between him and his wife was no one’s business but theirs.
Smiling, Allan calculated her every move. She approached the last barrel at an extraordinarily high speed.
She’s going too fast.
She pulled the reins as she went into turn three. Suddenly, Dawn reared. From that point, time stopped and then moved in slow motion.
Rosalind falling to the ground with a thud.
Rosalind lying lifeless.
Dawn, high-stepping and snorting.
“Rosalind!”
Allan and Max jumped the fence and
ran to her motionless body.
No. No, she can’t be dead. I love her.
He was the first to reach Rosalind’s side. Allan stumbled to his knees. He yanked off his gloves and gently touched her cheek. “Rosalind.”
She didn’t move. Her eyelids fluttered.
“Rosalind! Are you hurt?”
Her eyes remained closed but he saw the slight rise and fall of her chest.
Max strolled to them and caught Dawn’s reins. “Is the horse all right?”
Has everyone lost their minds? Rosalind is hurt.
No one seemed concerned but him. Allan fumbled to pull his phone from his pocket. “Don’t move her. I’m calling nine-one-one.”
He glanced back at Rosalind’s face. Her lips were curved.
Damn her. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t dying.
He gritted his teeth and swung around to glare at Max, who’d erupted in a fit of laughter along with the other four men. Allan stood so quickly, Rosalind’s head dropped to the ground.
“Ouch, what was that for?” she grunted in protest.
“You fell. Damn it, I thought you were hurt.”
Rosalind sat up, rubbing the back of her head, before getting to her feet. She brushed the dirt off her pants and took her hat from Max, sweeping it back and forth across her leg. Dirt and snow flew.
“Allan, don’t go gettin’ mad. It’s a trick we play on all the greenhorns.” She gave him a smile that could’ve melted all the snow in this arctic state. Being the recipient of the joke, his anger faded but he still felt annoyed as he slipped his phone into his pocket. His heart raced from the mere thought of losing Rosalind.
“That wasn’t very nice. You know the old saying about crying wolf too many times, right? Next time, I won’t come to your rescue.” Allan moseyed away, hid his smile from her, and strutted to the fence.
He resumed his position by the post. Rosalind worked hard, but he caught her staring at him often. She ran the barrels three more times, then gestured for him to follow her into the barn.
She led Dawn to a stall. “Would you like to help? To see what this is all about?”
“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to you.”
“The girth comes off first,” Rosalind instructed as she unfastened the straps.
He observed how this allowed the saddle to be lifted off. Rosalind handed him the saddle and he almost dropped it. Allan shifted the weight in his arms.
“How much does this monstrous thing weigh?”
“About fifty pounds. Why? Is it too much for you, City Boy?”
Allan rebuffed ignored her feisty comment. “You do this every morning?”
“Do what? Ride or lift the saddle?”
“Train,” he muttered, as he shifted the saddle to get a better hold.
“I run Dawn about three to five times through the course, when I have a show coming. I have trained other horses too.”
“And here I thought you worked out at a gym to keep your body so toned.”
She moved to the other side of the horse. He wrestled with the weight in his arms.
“I don’t go to a club to exercise. The horses and the ranch are work enough.”
“I see. No wonder cowboys are so fit,” he mumbled under his breath.
He carried the saddle to a short half wall and placed it like she’d instructed. Before he turned, Max handed him a sponge, soap, and bucket of water.
Allan regarded the thick, smelly sponge he held. “What in God’s name am I supposed to do with this?”
“You have to clean the saddle,” Max said.
Wiping his brow with his arm, Allan sucked in a deep breath. Hard labor. She had a think or two coming. It had been years since he’d stocked shelves at the local grocery store.
“I do? How much does this job pay?”
Laughing, Rosalind shook her head.
“What is that?” Allan pointed to a plaid blanket on the back of Dawn.
“This is a saddle cloth to protect the horse’s body from the rub of leather. Stop wasting time, you need to take the soap, get it wet, and apply it to the sponge . . .”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture.”
He struggled with his task, getting more water on himself than the saddle.
“You’re such a greenhorn. We have a saying about the unexpected and seeing a rattlesnake in your bed,” Rosalind quipped.
Allan dropped the sponge and glared at her, then Max. They in turn laughed at him. Disregarding their teasing, he noticed she was holding the horse’s foreleg in her hands. She picked up what looked like a cross between a knife and a screwdriver, using it to dig dirt and other stuff from Dawn’s hoof.
But what made him stare, motionless, was how Rosalind’s tucked-back hair revealed cheeks sporting a rosy tone. Gorgeous. Everything about her was real and natural. Even the barn, the horses, and the scents were a part of her.
“Do you go to one of those places to work out?” she abruptly asked, turning to stare at him.
He was lost.
No woman had ever made him feel this much passion or the need to protect.
Realizing she was waiting for his reply, Allan cleared his throat. “Yeah, my office has one available twenty-four-seven for all my employees. If I don’t have a lunch appointment or the markets are calm, I go to the gym.”
Unable to look away from her, Allan missed the bucket of water and the sponge fell to the ground. He bent to retrieve it and caught a glance at his watch. “We’re late for breakfast, it’s eight o’clock.”
“I know. Helen said she’d have breakfast ready for us at seven-thirty.”
“If she scolds us, it’s your fault,” Allan teased.
Rosalind ran from the barn toward the house. He followed. They raced, laughing, until they reached the door at the same time. He shoved her as they walked to the kitchen.
“You two are late,” Helen scolded. “Wash your hands. No one eats in my kitchen with dirty hands.”
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” Allan kissed Helen’s cheek.
“None of that, now.” Helen brushed him aside. She placed a plate of pancakes on the table.
Rosalind took a seat and filled her plate. He joined her and did the same. When their plates were clean, Helen shooed them out of her domain.
“I can help,” Rosalind protested.
“No, you scoot.” Helen waved them off. “Remember I’ll be going into town.”
“Okay. I’ll get you some money.”
“Let me pay.” Allan withdrew his wallet and plucked out a couple hundred-dollar bills.
“Oh my, my, it’s too much.” Helen refused to take the money.
He pressed the bills into her hand. “Keep the change for the next shopping trip.”
“Thank you, Mister, um, Allan. I’ll put this in my purse right now.” Helen hurried from the kitchen.
Rosalind coughed.
“What?” He gave her a puzzled look.
“You have her wrapped around your finger,” she taunted.
“I warned you I have a way with women.” He grinned when Rosalind rolled her eyes. “Let’s go into the living room.”
“Have you received the lease agreement?”
“Not sure. I haven’t checked my emails since I left the house. I will now.” Allan slipped his cell phone from his pocket.
“I’m—umm—I’ll go take a shower . . .”
“I could join you.” Allan stepped closer. “We could discuss it afterward, if it comes. It’ll be nice to be able to phone contractors and inform the horse owners of the good news.”
“Shh,” she looked toward the hallway. “Helen might—”
He cut off her reply with a slow, caressing kiss. His lips left her
mouth and nibbled her neck.
“I want to make love to you, but you’re right. We need to spend our time getting this project going,” he breathed into her ear.
“Yes—yes, I agree. I’ll meet you in the living room in ten minutes.”
Rosalind kissed his lips, and then took the stairs two at a time. Allan grinned at the sexual rock of her pelvis with each step.
He clicked on his phone. Opened his emails. Two were marked ‘urgent’ from Tiffany. The first one was the land lease agreement. He pressed ‘print doc’ and opened the second one. His face darkened. He tapped the contact button, scrolled until John’s name appeared, and touched ‘call.’
Rosalind stood alone under the rain of water and waited for Allan to join her. Minutes passed and he didn’t show. She sighed and finished. After she toweled off, she blow-dried her hair. Before heading to her room she dabbed on perfume she’d found in the back of the vanity drawer.
In her room, she put on a clean pair of jeans, but struggled with which top she should wear. She didn’t own anything sexy.
Crap. Everything is dull and boring. I can’t compete with his rich girlfriends.
She tapped her chin and settled on a tee shirt sporting a puppy on the front, and a blue zippered hoodie. Excited in spite of all the sadness of the last weeks, she hurried downstairs.
The living room and dining room were empty, but she heard his voice coming from the kitchen. Her file lay on the dining room table. Opening it, she laid out the pictures of the abused horses, the sketches she’d done of the proposed barn, and a set of financials.
Engrossed in arranging everything, she smelled his aftershave before she heard him.