He felt her try to hold back, and rubbed one gentling hand up and down her back. The hint of resistance dissolved. Her arms locked around his neck and she pressed against him and kissed him back with all the desperate need he felt for her.
A patch of grass off to the side of the rocks beckoned. If he could only figure out how to get them over there... Tonight he had no interest in leaning up against a rock.
"Hey, you two." Alice's shout hit him like a bucket of ice water. He looked up and realized that the others were almost out of sight. He and Poppy stood alone on the rock. Correction. He stood alone. After one stricken look at him, she had flung herself off the boulder and bolted after the group.
If he were sensible, he'd figure it was best that way. Too bad he wasn't sensible.
* * *
Early morning sunlight stabbed through the window into her eyes. Poppy groaned. Not again. She must be doomed to start every day here on the ranch with a severe case of the morning afters.
And last night hadn't even been about alcohol. Last night had been about responding to Mac like some kind of wild woman. For heaven's sake, all the man had to do was touch her and she turned into a sex maniac. If she could only figure a way to put him on hold...
She curled miserably under the covers and ignored the laughter and voices and clopping hooves of the morning ride, going out on schedule. Tom could just live with a little delay in the great fake-a-seduction scene. She couldn't face Mac right now.
But she either had to spend the rest of the day in bed or get out of Dodge before anyone saw her. She decided to stop in the kitchen for some sandwiches and then hike up into the hills. No one would be able to find her. She'd stay out of sight until she knew Tom was around, and this evening she'd stay so busy with him that she couldn't get into trouble with Mac.
Chickie approved a hike and zoomed around the big kitchen, efficiently slapping together sandwiches, cookies, and a couple of sodas while her mouth went nine miles to the minute. "Good idea, honey," she told Poppy. "Get a little time for yourself. Get used to the country. Never could understand why folks come all the way out here and then spend all their time in each other's pockets. Might as well stay in the Motel Six in their hometowns, some of them. You're a smart one, all right. Why, I could tell that you were goin' to take to this ranch like..."
Poppy grabbed her lunch and headed for the hills.
She climbed along a little stream, swearing breathlessly when she had to scramble over boulders or unhitch thorny fingers of some scrawny bush from her shirt. She couldn't imagine why someone hadn't paved a little path along here. Boston Common was much more civilized.
In the shade of a pine, she stopped to catch her breath and saw that she'd climbed high enough to have a bird's-eye view of the ranch. A big bird—a hawk?—circled endlessly over one of the pastures, soaring on the breeze that murmured through the pines and brought a welcome touch of coolness. She put out a hand and leaned against the rough, pineapple-smelling bark of the tree. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to like Montana after all.
The sun stood high overhead by the time she reached a curve in the stream and found a sheltered pool of smooth green water surrounded by boulders. Sweat dripped from her temples and ran down her backbone and between her breasts. Right now, nothing in the world could be more enticing than the prospect of that cool water embracing her hot, sticky body. She didn't see anything but trees and rocks, didn't hear anything except birds and the burble of water over stone. A delicious sense of naughtiness possessed her. And this time it wouldn't get her into trouble.
Without another second of hesitation, she stripped off her sweat-soaked shirt, pulled off her boots, the hot, heavy jeans, and her underwear. After spreading the clothes out on a rock to dry, she plunged into the sparkling water.
The shock hit her skin like blades of ice. She surfaced, gasping for breath, and struck out across the pool. By the time she reached the other side, the water felt glorious. She ducked under again, stroking smoothly underwater amidst the sparkles of sunlight that glittered around her like crystal, and swooshing up into the warm air like a sleek water creature.
The cool, silky water against every millimeter of her skin, the absolute freedom of being here, being alive, being naked in this wilderness...yes! She'd never been so alive.
On the heels of that insight, she realized she was freezing. She pulled herself up onto a sun-warmed rock and stretched out, trying to soak up as much heat as possible. The sun touched her, all of her, with the gentleness of a lover. Touched places that had never seen the sun, much less a lover's hand. She snorted. Neither of her two fumbling attempts to decipher the mysteries of man-and-woman had been half as exciting as this.
Surely sex had to be better than what she'd experienced. Poppy's eyelashes fluttered against the sun, the weight of its light and heat pressing on her skin, bringing every nerve alive in a way that she'd never felt before. Surely a lover should make a woman feel like this, the way she did in dreams.
Languidly she rolled her shoulders up and back, and felt the weight of her breasts following the movement. The fingers of sunlight brushed her eyelids, her breasts, brushed her nipples, until they stood upright and demanding. She lay back, the sun hot on her skin, and trailed her fingers down her sides, arching upward to the almost physical touch of sun beating on her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
Light as down, her fingers followed the sun on her body down her sides, along her legs. She let her hands fall limp and relaxed against the warmed stone. Sunlight feathered across the ardently red curls that foamed between her thighs like a torch, each hair quivering beneath the caress. Her whole being pulsed upward.
* * *
Mac pulled his horse to a skidding stop and stared down the hill and across the stream. Holy Christmas in a bucket. That was Poppy, stark naked on a rock, stretched out like an offering to the gods right out where anyone could see her.
He certainly could...see...every...inch...of...her and he gaped like a teenager witnessing his first woman.
Desire slammed through him like a charging bull, and his blood surged into an instant erection so fast it left him light headed and dizzy. He gulped air as if he'd run ten miles.
He had to get his hands on her.
Without consciously willing the movements, he lifted the reins and nudged the horse into a walk, imagining how it would be to cross the stream, icy water splashing up from the horse's hooves, his gaze fixed on Poppy, waiting there for him. He'd step down from the saddle, be up on that rock beside her in two strides, have all that creamy, tantalizing woman under him—
Before the horse had taken half a dozen steps, high, happy voices drifted up the canyon and she leaped for her clothes. He stopped under a tall pine just as a flicker of movement up the hill to the right caught his eye. Without moving, he swept his gaze across the hill just in time to catch the flash of light from a pair of binoculars. He focused on the shadowy figure and recognized the horse. Pulled his own field glasses out of a saddlebag and looked to be sure. Yep. The same horse he'd seen Brad Farwell ride out on this morning. Brad Farwell, with his eyes practically falling out of his head as he watched Poppy scramble into her clothes.
The image of Poppy sprawled on that rock haunted Mac for the rest of the day. While he unsaddled and curried his horse, while he went over bills, with each stroke of paint-loaded brush over the new tool shed, she filled his mind. Hell, that image would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He worried some over what to do about Brad, but he couldn't blame the kid. Mac might be ten years older and about a million years wiser but he sure hadn't turned away when he'd seen her on that rock. So as long as the dumb ass didn't act on what Mac one-hundred-per-cent knew he felt, everything would be fine. But now Mac had one more reason to stick close to her. He'd be her bodyguard as long as Brad was around. Tough job, but he could do it. He didn't even try to stop the smile.
Poppy didn't come swinging down the hill until nearly suppertime. She disappeared i
nto her cabin and Mac dumped the paintbrush and went after her. But when he reached Poppy's cabin, there stood Tom, leaning in the doorway. Again. The sight of him reminded Mac that they'd never had that little talk.
He wanted, he needed an innocent explanation for Tom's presence, so he could concentrate on Poppy. But you couldn't always get what you wanted. Besides Poppy, he wanted Alice’s happiness, but it looked like his sister's husband might be about to jump the fence.
"Hey, you guys." That sounded casual enough. "What's up?"
"Uh, Poppy saw a mouse in her cabin," Tom said. "I'm going to set a trap."
Right. He believed that. But if the excuse worked for Tom, it would work even better for him. "I can do that. I'll walk up with you and get it right now, in fact. If you're all done here." He all but shouldered Tom off the porch. "Back in a minute," he said over his shoulder, and hauled Tom up the path.
"After dinner," she called after him. "I'm starving. It's been a busy day."
She sure had been busy, what with taking off her clothes and all. He set a scorching pace up the path, too mad at Tom for getting between him and his thoughts of Poppy to talk.
"Mind telling me what's got your tail in such a twist?" Tom said.
Mac's anger fizzed up and he swung around to block the path. "You stupid so-and-so."
"Possibly. But it's not illegal, and you've never objected before."
"Cute. Real cute. I'm talking about Poppy, you miserable jerk. Poppy, who is so not your wife."
"Well, I know that."
"Since when do you hit on paying guests?"
"I'm not."
"Get real. I've seen you."
"You don't understand."
"I understand you've got Alice tied in knots and—"
"And she went running to Big Brother to keep me in line." Tom grimaced. "Perfect. Just perfect." He socked one fist into the other hand. "Butt out, MacLean. Butt the hell out."
"I'm not going to stand by and watch you—"
"You're going to stand by and watch me do whatever I do. Alice may be your sister, but she's my wife, and what's between us is private. Even from you. Even if my dear wife goes whining to you. Although God knows what she's got to whine about—" He broke off and pushed past Mac, his great plunging strides eating the distance and anger hovering over him in an almost visible haze.
Well, shoot. That hadn't gone according to plan. Mac rubbed a hand across his face and trudged toward the house to suggest once more that Alice deal with this problem herself.
Much as he hated to admit it, Tom had a point.
He forced himself to face Alice on the way to the dining room and gave her a carefully edited version of his encounter with Tom. When her face went white, he put an arm around her. "He's right, you know. It's not my business. The two of you have to work this out."
"I know." She blinked away tears. "I know it's not her fault, either. It's my fault." Her face contorted and she bolted from the room, leaving him wondering what had happened to his calm, sensible sister.
He went in to the dining room prepared for her absence, and for Tom's, or for anything from frosty politeness to open warfare if they both showed up. To his surprise, Alice apparently had chosen to believe the mouse story. And hell, maybe it was even the truth.
Choosing to believe it sounded like a good way to go.
He let his mind fill with Poppy. The way she'd looked on that rock swam through his mind for the ten thousandth time since that afternoon, and his heart rate bumped up.
After dinner, Tom caught his eye and gestured toward the office. Resigned to more emotional scenes, he followed.
"Owe you an apology," Tom said. "Should have known Alice didn't go running to you. She's a little sensitive about Poppy. Damned if I know why." The lie hovered in his eyes and he shifted his gaze to the corner of the desk.
A guilty look if Mac had ever seen one. "I'd say that the way you look at Poppy gives her some reason."
"Her own fault."
He sighed and wished it were easier to tell where helping stopped and meddling began. "I can't stand by and let you hurt Alice," he said.
"Any hurt that's getting dealt, I'm not the dealer. Your sister—"
"Maybe you didn't start it, but you're giving back some pretty heavy stuff. Like the way you looked at Poppy when you met. And the way you keep cozying up to her. I'd say maybe you're just escalating things."
"Yeah, well, that's the way it's going to be until Alice—"
Mac waited, but Tom didn't continue. "Not my business, right?"
Tom walked across the room and paused in the doorway. "Right," he said, and left.
So much for discussion. Mac stared out the window at the mountains purpling with the end of the day. Part of him agreed with Tom—someone else's marriage wasn't any of his business. Except he'd been taking care of Alice too long to stop now.
When he reached the Great Room, Tom stood talking to—surprise, surprise—Poppy. Mac walked up in time to hear her ask, "About that mousetrap—"
She stood much closer to Tom than Mac considered necessary. The innocuous words were at odds with the way she put a hand on Tom's arm and tilted her head to look up at him. Tom covered it with his and smiled down at her. Out of the corner of his eye Mac saw scarlet stain Alice's cheekbones. From where she watched, it had to look like Poppy hitting on Tom, but from right beside them, Mac got a great big nothing. No tension, no pulsating, no yearning, nothing.
"I said I'd take care of the mouse." He edged between Tom and Poppy. "I assumed it wouldn't be out of line to have dinner first. Or was that just an excuse to get rid of me?"
Poppy stepped back, preventing an undignified shoving match. She ignored his question. "It's only a tiny mouse. If Tom sets the trap tomorrow, that'll be fine."
"You have some reason for not wanting me to do it?" Even he could hear the dangerous edge to his voice.
Poppy and Tom glanced at each other, and his scalp tightened at this sign of closeness between them.
"Sure, Mac, go ahead," Tom said.
At the same time Poppy said, "Why don't you do it now?"
"Fine." He stalked from the room. A fast walk to the tool shed for the traps might cool his temper enough that he didn't punch his brother-in-law or wring Poppy's flirty little neck.
He came back through the kitchen to grab some peanut butter for bait and went back to get her. If she thought she'd send him off to do handyman work while she popped corn with Tom, she had another think coming.
His gaze homed in on her, like a compass seeking true north. She perched on the arm of a chair, talking to a kid, little Mikey Hamilton, and his mother. Tom had vanished. Mac marched across the room. "Ready?"
She looked up. "Ready for what?"
He waved a mousetrap under her nose.
She shuddered. "Why do you need me?"
"You have to show me where you saw the mouse," he said. Of course he didn't need her, but he wanted her. Alone. In her cabin. Now. In spite of the way she infuriated him.
She gave him a mulish look. "I don't see why," she began.
"Trust me." He gave her his best smile. "Help me. Maybe I'm scared of mice and you can protect me."
"Oh, go along with him, dear," Mikey's mom said. "You don't want mice running around your cabin all night."
He should do something nice for plump little Mrs. Hamilton.
Poppy stood. "All right, brave hero. Let's go make my cabin safe from wildlife." She marched toward the door.
Mac trailed along, enjoying the view. Those ordinary jeans might as well be red spandex now that he knew what lay under the denim. Nothing ordinary about that tempting rear view.
God bless imaginary mice.
Chapter 5
Mac paced beside her, half a step behind, crowding her a little, not saying anything, but so close that his heat lapped at her and lit a hundred fires under her skin. All the feelings she had discovered this afternoon simmered in her veins.
Something had changed today. Ever since
he had come to her cabin this afternoon, he'd been more—possessive. A little angry and aggressive, too, as though he had some claim on her.
Just the thought made her knees go weak and her heart pound, but she needed to resist. She needed to stay away from him, or at least put him off, until she'd finished the Tom thing.
So why was she leading him down the path to her cabin, fully prepared to walk through the door and be alone with him in that cozy, all-too-private space?
He dropped back and strode along the path behind her, traps clinking. She'd swear his gaze burned her backside. Self consciousness turned her walk stiff as she tried to keep her hips from swaying.
Maybe she had an over-active imagination. Maybe he'd just set the traps and leave. Maybe—oh, God, what if he pretended all that heat? What if he only wanted to keep her away from Tom? The thought hurt more than it should, and she concentrated on not letting it show.
She climbed the three steps to her porch and fumbled her key into the lock, trying to ignore Mac's closeness. She stepped through the door with him right on her heels. When she turned to close the door, she glanced at him, surprising an expression of grim determination on his face. Surely one little, imaginary mouse didn't warrant that. She took a closer look and saw desire. Need. O-o-kay.
She'd seen that before. He might be protecting his sister's marriage, but he really did want her. He was a hunter, and tonight the mythical mouse wasn't the only quarry.
The room seemed to shrink to half its size when he followed her inside and closed the door. She crossed to the kitchen and flipped on the light. "The mouse came out from under the sink," she said, making it up as she went along. "When I opened the cabinet, it ran over my foot into the bedroom." Wrong. She shouldn't be saying bedroom.
He crouched in front of the sink, opened the cabinet, and reached for a trap.
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