by Marie Jermy
“So? I have an equally annoying habit of leaving the cap off the toothpaste.”
Now Rex was certain. He was drowning in her striking green eyes. “Hmmm.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, noisily clearing her throat. “I’ll get dressed. After the nine thirty appointment, I’ll show you around and you can meet Bonnie and Clyde, the two horses that Greg bought for the practice.”
Still preoccupied with the thought of making love to Ramona, up against the wall, there and then, Rex didn’t budge. If anything, he invaded her personal space by moving closer, until a sharp kick in the shin brought him back to reality.
“Move it or lose it!” she warned, eyeing his crotch with deadly intent.
Rex moved.
* * * *
To say Ramona was pissed on a number of points as she entered her bedroom was an understatement. The not so quiet closing of the door only just scratching the surface of how pissed.
Point one. Sitting at the reception desk did not make her the receptionist. Yet Rex Latimer had obviously come to the firm decision that she was. With bulging biceps and dreamy toffee-brown eyes set in a strong-boned and rugged face, he’d filled the doorway oozing sex and smugness with all the ease of horse shit off of a shovel.
Point two. The masculine “hmmm,” which had welled up from the bottom of his throat and made more pronounced by his Southern drawl, at her “leaving caps off toothpaste tubes” comment had made her chest tighten, as though her heart was held captive in a vise.
Point three. Oodles of hot, little shivers had darted down her spine when those toffee-brown eyes of his toured her body, as if he were a hungry lion eyeing his next meal—she being that meal—before fixing on her mouth.
Point four. His mouth was seriously sensual, the corners turned up as if he was always on the verge of laughter. Laughter that would disguise the shadows in his eyes that she’d noticed when she had informed him she’d taken up residence in the bedroom next to his.
Point five. For a brief moment, she’d had the urge to be like Samantha and go all slushy on a guy. Thankfully, she’d realized she didn’t do romance, she only did sex. But sex with Rex was definitely not going to happen. She wanted him to move out, not move into her bed.
With a disgusted snort, because if the clock hadn’t been ticking she would have added points six, seven, eight, nine and ten, Ramona quickly dressed, this time more appropriately in a pair of blue linen pants and a sand-colored, short-sleeved shirt. Then, easing some gel through her hair until it stood to attention, she went down to the reception. Rex was just taking charge of Mudge the cat from Mrs. Rawlins. Her grin was sly as she removed her white vet’s coat from the stand and stuck her arms into the sleeves. “Operation Accommodating” was about to go live.
“Thank you, Mrs. Rawlins. Mudge should be ready for collection either this evening or tomorrow morning. Whichever suits you best.” She tilted her head, giving Rex a slightly mocking smile. “Prepare Mudge for surgery. It’s the second door on your right. Oh, and to open his carrier, you flip the catches on the top.” His dark look was perfect.
She tinkered about in the reception for five minutes and then joined Rex. He had just administered the anesthetic and was softly stroking Mudge’s nose. She was immediately drawn to his fingers. Long, manly, and blunt edged, yet tender. A man with those fingers could work magic on a woman’s body. Her body…
His breath hot and rough in her ear, he trailed one decadent fingertip over her pearled nipples, down her belly, lower to between her legs to the spot where she burned. Hide and seek had never been so wicked.
What the…! She’d known Rex for all of two minutes and already she wanted him to do things to her body that one, she had no business thinking about in the first place, and two, were more than likely illegal in Montana and every adjoining state.
With a disgusted shake of her head, Ramona slipped into a cool directive mode and approached the table.
* * * *
Incredulous, Rex stared at Ramona for what must have been the zillionth time in ten minutes. Were his ears deceiving him? Perhaps they were, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with his eyesight. She was pointing to and explaining in great detail the uses of every instrument on the metal tray between them.
Unsurprisingly, his mind wandered. There was something incredibly sexy about that white coat of hers. Probably due to the fact, he’d half seen the gorgeous body beneath. It didn’t require too much effort for him to picture pressing her up against the wall, unbuttoning that coat, and taking her and it to climax heaven.
And that mouth! A mouth that instantly evoked vivid images of dewy, hunger-driven, tongue-tangling kisses.
Swallowing the lust-loaded groan, Rex shook his head and willed himself to concentrate on what Ramona was telling him. Hang on a minute. He knew how to neuter a goddamned cat! He could do it with his eyes closed, though probably not a good idea. “You know, Ramona,” he interjected, his tone brusque and businesslike, “I am qualified. Gained my DVM with honors. I also have degrees in biochemistry, embryology, and animal psychology. Also with honors. Would you like to see the certificates?”
“Tell me again. How did Greg hire you?”
He frowned at her sudden change of subject. “I didn’t tell you.”
“Embarrassed? Or just plain yellow?”
“Y–yellow?” he spluttered, stunned. Surely Ramona wasn’t still upset about being mistaken for the receptionist? He had apologized. Hadn’t he? “Look, if this is about earlier—”
Ramona cut him off. “Certificates only tell me so much.” She gestured to a nearby razor and stood back. “Why don’t you show me your ‘passed with honors’ skills?”
With a scowl, Rex plucked the razor from the instrument tray and, within twenty minutes had shaved the fur, cleaned the area, and expertly and neatly neutered Mudge. “Satisfied?”
“You’ll never satisfy me.”
The sneer slipping from his face, Rex felt the blood roaring straight to his cock. Now there was a challenge and a come-on if ever he’d heard one. But what to do about it? While his veterinarian skills could speak for themselves, he wasn’t about to risk his future by allowing his cock to rule his head. And to announce, no matter how subtle, that he could satisfy her would more than likely end with the kick in the crotch and the kick out the door.
He really wanted to buy into the practice. What he’d seen so far had impressed him so much he was willing to pay more than what Stephens had quoted. However, he didn’t need half a brain cell to know Ramona was not keen in having him as partner. It had been an error of judgment on his part to mistake her for the receptionist, and one that Ramona seemed to be taking to the extreme. He could only wonder at the reasons why.
Rex carried Mudge through to the kennels, placed him into a cage, and covered him with a blanket. As he turned to face Ramona, who’d followed him, that luscious mouth of hers curved into a smile bordering on suggestive, he came to a firm decision.
In the one-night stand and fling stakes, Ramona was off-limits. Period. When it came to acts of sexual gratification, he would seek female company from the town and the surrounding area. Rex just hoped they weren’t looking for anything other than a bit of fun and an orgasm because he wasn’t willing to give anything to a relationship that even hinted to a walk down the aisle.
Chapter 3
The sun had yet to nudge the horizon when a bleary-eyed Ramona entered the kitchen and mechanically filled the kettle and switched it on. Despite it being her daily routine since… well, like forever, 5:30 was not morning but the middle of the frigging night!
With a loud yawn, she filled a bowl with honey-coated cereal hoops, tossed in a handful of blueberries, drenched them with milk, and then slumped down in one of the chairs at the table. The almost wooden lifting of the spoon and subsequent munching coincided with the sounds of running water above her head.
The day before had been odd. Odd in the sense that Rex had indeed satisfied her. He was, witho
ut doubt, a brilliant vet. She thought it funny, ironic even, that her attitude had changed in such a short space of time. At first, when Stephens had told her about Rex, hell would have frozen over before she wanted him for a partner. Watching him with the animals, though, his care and treatment of them, his affable manner with their owners, had made her realize if she’d been the one advertising for a new vet, not Stephens, and Rex had applied, she wouldn’t have thought twice about employing him.
She remained steadfast on a couple of issues though.
One. The house. While she was willing to let Rex have his share of the business, she didn’t want him involved in the plans for the house. He had to move out. The sooner, the better. Of course, the solution would be to buy Rex’s half. She was sure they could negotiate a suitable price, one that was agreeable for all for those involved.
Two. Yes, okay, with his dreamy toffee-brown eyes, bulging biceps, and “how-many-legs-buckling-screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-orgasms-do-you-want?” fingers, Rex was easily the hottest man she’d ever met before. She couldn’t deny they had chemistry worth exploring. Even so, that didn’t mean she was going to turn slushy, or that he would share her bed. Not that she’d ever been tempted with Stephens, but jumping a partner’s bones was not smart. “Screw up in the bedroom department and the business side is bound to follow” had always been her philosophy.
So, while meeting Bud Watson was immaterial, but to reiterate issues one and two, and whether Rex sold out or not, “Operation Accommodating” was still on.
And, of course, Ramona knew the best way to implicate that was out of surgery hours.
The evening before, she’d surprised him, and if she were honest, herself, as well, with a vegetarian chili. She’d never cooked for a man before. Her father and brothers didn’t count. Then leaving him suitably relaxed in the armchair—she’d resisted the sudden urge to muss his hair as he’d absently neatened it with his fingers—his strong, straight nose buried in a science fiction novel she’d gone for a long, hot soak. But his happy mood hadn’t lasted long. It vanished the instant she’d told him the bathroom was free and he’d almost slipped on his smug ass.
The kettle switched off and Ramona went over to the counter. Spooning coffee into a mug and adding the boiled water, she idly wondered how many more visits to a bathroom that had all the appearances of being hit by a bomb would make Rex move out.
“Mornin’.”
What normally took three mugs of coffee and a five-mile jog around Silver Creek Lake, located at the rear of her parents’ house, Rex, with his Southern drawl, achieved in one second flat. She’d been so busy wallowing in a sense of victory that she’d forgotten to listen out for the shower turning off.
The mug held in one hand, Ramona slowly turned to face him. Her breath stuck in her throat before coming out with a whoosh. And for one moment, she felt certain her heart had stopped beating before it gathered speed and ran like a racehorse.
Oh, yeah, they definitely had chemistry. Red-hot chemistry.
His short, light-brown hair darkened by dampness made the fingers of her free hand twitch. His pink shirt—honestly, on any other man it would have looked just plain girlish, not Rex, he carried it off with a ton of testosterone to spare—was fully open, showing an incredible expanse of smooth, muscular chest, each rib defined and made for touching with fingers and with lips and tongue.
And not to stake a claim on him, but Ramona firmly decided it should be her fingers, her lips, and her tongue doing the touching.
His charcoal-gray pants were zipped, but the button undone and the leather belt unbuckled. The extremely hard and sizeable ridge of his cock pressing against the material also made for her fingers, lips, and tongue. He was barefoot. Okay, so Ramona thought of herself to be the kind of woman to try anything, but, and even though Rex had perfect feet, the jury was still out on male toe sucking.
The sight of an aroused man primed for some sizzling action on the kitchen table was a turn-on all in itself, but what was really endearing was that there was a small piece of tissue stuck on his left cheek, just beside his ear. The smug, ultra-sexy Rex Latimer had cut himself shaving! She then caught herself. Endearing? Damn it! She was turning slushy.
The warm, spicy aroma of his cologne invaded her already spinning senses, and banging her untouched coffee on the kitchen counter, Ramona tugged the belt on her bathrobe tighter and proclaimed, “I’m going for a shower!”
* * * *
“But you had a bath last night…”
Rex trailed off as Ramona stalked from the kitchen. Actually, it was more of a shuffle, her ridiculously oversized fluffy cow slippers making walking impossible, unless she kicked them off and threw them at him first. And, judging by her “I’m-so-not-a-morning-person” mood, a faceful of fur was possible.
Her sour mood almost matched his own. His dreams the night before had been filled with Ramona and dewy, hunger-driven, tongue-tangling kisses. Consequently, his shower had been a cold one. Not that it had worked. The subsequent hand job had also been just as ineffective. He’d still walked into the kitchen with a stiff.
That second stiff, however, had waned the moment Ramona had said she was going for a shower. If he’d known she was going to say that, he could have forgone the torture of his own shower altogether. Honestly, the night before, when he’d almost broken his neck, he thought he’d entered a bomb site, not a bathroom.
How many bottles did a woman use when taking a long, hot soak? Two at the most, he’d decided—bubble bath and soap. Oh, no, not Ramona. Every one of her two dozen bottles of lotions and potions had been opened and used, and, he suspected, smeared over the tiles. She’d shaved, the evidence of which had been left in the bath. A heap of soggy towels, a heavy dusting of talcum powder, and a gallon of water on the tiled floor completed the bomb site.
Shaking his head, Rex picked up the mug Ramona had banged on the counter and took a sip. Ah, just the way he liked it—black, no sugar. He inhaled and drank a satisfying mouthful. Well, it did seem a pity to waste it, and her half-eaten cereal, too. Not that he normally ate breakfast. He just felt the need for a little payback. No doubt, upon his return to the bathroom, “Bomb II” would be waiting for him.
This time, Rex glared up at the ceiling while he buttoned his shirt and fastened and belted his pants. He hoped Ramona’s shower was every bit as icy as his. He instantly took that back. Icy water meant little gasps and tight nipples, which, in turn, meant if he didn’t put a stop to that train of thought, his “stiff” would return with a zipper-busting and button-popping vengeance.
Finishing the coffee, he made himself another and then sat at the table. Really, he shouldn’t be so uncharitable. After all, she had cooked dinner the night before. Somehow, he hadn’t been surprised to learn she was a vegetarian like himself. But what really surprised him? Not only did she dislike garlic as much as him, but, and again like himself, Ramona was interested in anything science fiction and fantasy. Well, almost anything. Apart from the first one to see what all the hype was about, he’d never had the urge to pick up a Harry Potter book.
Another coffee later and Rex went upstairs. The bathroom door was open. While he felt suitably caffeine-fixed for anything, he still steeled himself before going inside. Son of a bitch! Never mind about “Bomb II”—“III”, “IV,” and “V” had been dropped. “Ramona!”
She waltzed from her bedroom, wearing nothing but a faded black T-shirt, the hem of which barely reached midway on a pair of trim thighs, and the most innocent of expressions. She might lack height, but those legs of hers would make any catwalk model green with envy. He’d rather not be reminded, but one model came to mind—his ex-wife.
“Yes, Rex? Something wrong?”
Again, but for an entirely different reason, Rex steeled himself. Now was not the time to think of little gasps and tight nipples, especially when his attention was riveted to her thighs. Thighs that belonged wrapped around his waist, clenching tight as he made himself at home and claimed h
er slick pussy as his own. He wrenched his gaze away. “Ramona, I cleaned up after you last night because you were good enough to cook. But don’t think it’s going to be a regular occurrence.”
“You could always move out.”
“Move out?” he echoed. “Why would I want to move out? This is my house.”
“Half your house,” Ramona swiftly corrected. “Name your price.”
“For what?”
Her snort was loud and impatient. “For your half of the house. Sell it to me. Well, think about it,” she said when he made no reply. She moved past him and stood in the bathroom doorway, one hand on her hip, the other flat on his chest. She gave him a not so gentle nudge backward. “Now if you don’t mind, I haven’t finished.”
“You haven’t finished?” Rex echoed, not entirely surprised. Her clean and fresh smell, like that of laundered cotton with a splash of lemon should have cleared his head. Not a chance. He glanced down at her hand. He’d never noticed before, but she had the sweetest of hands, her neatly trimmed nails just long enough to rake his back.
On that thought, his annoyance instantly dissolved. The blood racing to a part of his anatomy south of the border, and all thoughts racing to that same area, Rex covered her hand with his, the warmth of her fingers pressed to his chest, searing his skin through the shirt’s cotton material. He met her gaze and began to drown in those sparkling green depths. She parted her lips—an invitation maybe?—and he bent lower, angling his head. “May I?”
“May… may you, what?”
“Kiss you.”
“Do, and you’ll never become partner.”
Ramona’s comment was akin to a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in Rex’s face. Apart from the obvious, what had he been thinking? Hadn’t he, just the day before, made the firm decision not to let his cock rule his head? Ramona was off-limits. Repeat after me—off-limits. And if he wanted to become partner, he’d be advised to remember that.