“I tried. It didn’t work. I finally gave up, got out of bed and dragged myself down here to make coffee. Speaking of which—” she lifted her head, snagged his mug from his fingers and drank “—Mmm.” She pushed the cup back into his hand and returned her cheek to the comfort of his chest. “You make a good pillow.” She said sleepily.
“Hmm. You know,” he said reflectively. “A man could get used to this.”
“Used to what?”
“Drinking his morning coffee with a half-naked woman on his lap.”
“I’m not half-naked.”
“No? Darn.” He said mildly. “I could have sworn you aren’t wearing a bra.”
Victoria didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she flexed her fingers, her nails threatening the hard muscle beneath cotton. “And I could have sworn you wouldn’t take advantage of me when I’m still two-thirds asleep.”
“Ouch.” Quinn slid his mug onto the table and caught her fingers in his, carefully removing them from his shirt. “You’ve got sharp claws, woman.”
“Mmm.” She wasn’t sure if it was the caffeine coursing through her bloodstream or the banter with Quinn, but Victoria was definitely starting to wake up. She peered at him through half-lowered lashes. “The better to scratch you with, my dear.”
“Haven’t you got that backward? I’m the wolf—and that would make you Little Red Riding Hood.”
Victoria plucked at the skirt of her apple-green cotton robe. “Wrong color.”
“I’ll make allowances.”
The quiet was broken by a sharp bark, followed by the scratch of nails against the back door.
Quinn glanced at his watch.
“Much as I hate to leave you, sweetheart, I have to get going.” He eased her off his lap and stood. “I’ll let Annie in on my way out.”
“Thanks.”
He tipped her chin up, brushed warm lips against hers and gently tapped the tip of her nose with his forefinger.
“I definitely could get used to this. How about breakfast with my coffee tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
He left the kitchen. Seconds later, Annie bounded into the kitchen. She nudged her nose under Victoria’s palm in a bid for attention.
“Morning, girl.” Victoria bent to rub the collie’s silky ears. “Sorry, I was distracted by Quinn. I bet you want breakfast, don’t you?”
Annie’s ears pricked with interest. Panting, she gave Victoria her version of a doggy grin.
The memory of sharing the early-morning quiet with Quinn stayed with Victoria and she found herself smiling at odd hours throughout the day.
Chapter Five
Having coffee and breakfast with Quinn became a habit over the next few days. He arrived each morning just after dawn to milk Becky’s cow, feed her chickens and fork hay down to the horses. Since Victoria’s internal clock continued to go off precisely at five every morning, she rose, dressed and had breakfast ready when Quinn brought the milk to the house. He teased her about being domestic, she blithely threatened him with legal action and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t react with stiffness and anger to the casual reminder of her profession.
Becky grew increasingly impatient with her forced hours in bed. Still, the doctor adamantly refused to give her permission to use a cane and hobble around the house.
The days fell into a routine, the hours drifting slowly one into another. Surprisingly, Victoria didn’t grow bored with the quiet rhythm. One afternoon toward the end of the second week, she left Becky napping upstairs and wandered outside to wash her car. The thermometer hovered in the low-80’s, Annie lay in the shade at the end of the porch, stretched out against the cool board floor. Two horses stood at the far end of the corral, deep in the shadow cast by the barn roof, heads down, tails swishing sporadically at bottleflies.
Annie stirred, lifting her head from her paws when Victoria poked around at the base of the porch, searching for the faucet.
“Ah-ha. Here you are.” Tucked behind tall snapdragons, the faucet had a hose already attached. Victoria collected the spray nozzle hooked over the metal pipe and followed the green vinyl around the corner of the house. A sprinkler was attached to the far end. She disconnected it, twisted the nozzle on in its place, and towed the long hose after her to the sidewalk and out the gate to the car before returning to the house. She ran lightly up the stairs, pausing to peek in on the still sleeping Becky, before tiptoeing quietly down the hall to her bedroom to change into a pair of cutoffs and a white, bra-cut top. Quick brush strokes swept her hair into a ponytail and a few swift twists of a ribbon band secured the silky mane high above her nape. A quick stop in the kitchen located a pail, soap, old towels and a brush to scrub the car’s wheels.
She hung the towels over one of the gate’s pickets, dumped soap into the pail, and ran water over the granules. The sun was hot on her bare shoulders, legs, midriff and scalp.
More wet than dry, she was bent over, scrubbing the hood of the car, when Quinn drove in a half hour later.
She pushed upright, a hand raised to shade her eyes, and watched him climb out of the truck and walk toward her.
“Hi.” She smiled, delighted to see him. “You’ve got perfect timing, Bowdrie. I was just about to scrub the wheels, but since you’re here…”
Hands on hips, he looked her up and down, quick heat flaring in his eyes. “Damn, Denning. You’re soaking wet.”
She held her arms away from her body, one hand clutching a torn hand towel that dripped soap suds onto the ground, and looked down. The sun top and faded jean cutoffs were damp down the front, the result of leaning against the wet car body while she stretched to reach across the roof of the car. The cutoffs were soaked over her hips where she’d rubbed her hands in an effort to dry them, and her toes curled against the wet leather of her sandals.
“You’re right.” She agreed cheerfully, brushing her forearm across her cheek in a vain attempt to push a tendril of hair out of her eyes. “I’m drenched.” She tipped her face up to the sun. “Not a bad thing to be in this heat. You should try it, Quinn.”
“No, thanks.” He said dryly. “I’m not dressed for it.”
“So, how about it? Are you going to scrub the wheels?”
“All right. Where’s the brush?”
“Right here.” She fished the scrub brush from the bottom of the pail and tossed it to him. Too late, she realized that an arc of soap bubbles and water drops trailed the brush’s flight.
Quinn caught the wet brush one-handed and shook his head at her.
“I don’t want to get wet,” he warned.
“Oops, sorry.” She walked around the car, dragging the hose, and sprayed the wheel wells. “There’s a can of cleanser by the gate.”
Quinn rounded the hood of the car, staying well away from the hose spray, and collected the can. He waited until Victoria returned to scrubbing the hood before he went down on his haunches on the far side of the car.
“You’re here early for evening chores,” Victoria commented.
“I took the afternoon off.”
His voice was muffled, Victoria glanced up but couldn’t see him above the car body.
“Now there’s a first,” she said with amusement. “I didn’t know ranchers ever took a day off.”
“I didn’t take a day off, just the afternoon and evening. Cully’s doing the chores at home tonight.” He stretched to reach the far side of the tire, his boots slipping in the wet dirt that was fast turning into mud. “Hell,” he muttered, catching himself just in time to keep from landing on his rear in a puddle.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Quinn said, louder. He could tell from the sound of her voice that she was on the far side of the car. Finished with the tire and its chrome rim, he shifted, without standing up, the few feet necessary to reach the next tire on that side.
Two seconds later, a waterfall swept over the hood of the car and poured over him.
>
“Hey!” He shot to his feet.
“Oh, no!” Stunned, Victoria stared at him for a full second, water continuing to arc between them, before she remembered to take her thumb from the nozzle handle. The spray from the hose shut off immediately, but water continued to drip from the brim of Quinn’s hat, running down his face to slide off his jaw. A jaw that was hard as granite. Her gaze raced to meet his and found his green eyes narrowed, threatening. “Oh, Quinn! I’m sorry, I really am.” She waved the hand holding the hose toward the rear of the car. “I thought you were washing the rear tire. I swear I didn’t know you were there. Honest.”
Quinn slowly lifted a hand and drew it down his face, sluicing water from his skin. He pulled off his hat and looked at the wet spots.
“You got my hat wet. My good hat.”
“I’m sorry.” Victoria surmised that she’d committed a cardinal sin. “Is it ruined?”
“No, it’s not ruined. But it’s wet.”
Clearly, that made sense to him. It didn’t to Victoria, but then, she wasn’t in any position to argue. “Can we dry it?” She asked tentatively.
He glowered at her and splashed through the muddy puddles to the gate where he hung the hat on one of the pickets, then stripped off his wet shirt and tossed it over the gate. He leaned against the post and tugged off his boots and socks before he strode around the car to Victoria.
She discovered that a half-wet, half-naked, irritated male was intimidating. He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. She looked at his open palm.
“What?”
“Give me the hose. You’re dangerous with that thing.”
Meekly, she held out the hose, then snatched it back. “Wait a minute. I’m not giving you this hose unless you promise not to spray me,” she said stoutly.
“I won’t spray you,” he growled.
She handed him the hose.
“At least, not this minute.”
Too late. Victoria watched a wicked grin curve his mouth and realized she’d been had.
“Don’t even think about it, Quinn,” she warned.
Hot sun gleamed off the satiny skin of his bare shoulders, sleek muscles flexed and shifted as he stepped toward her.
She backed up. One step. Two. His thumb flicked the nozzle hammer and spray settled over her in a cold stream. She shrieked and ducked away, brought up short against the car fender.
The spray stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Victoria leaned against the car, blinking. Drops of water clung to her lashes. She ran her fingertips over her closed lashes and down her cheeks, wiping away water. The chilly water left goose bumps on her arms and she held her hands wide, looking down at the damage.
If she’d been damp before, now she was truly drenched. She lifted her head, expecting to find Quinn laughing at her.
He wasn’t laughing.
His gaze was fastened on her breasts.
Victoria already knew the shock of cold water had puckered her nipples, drawing them tight against the soft cotton of her wet sun top. They rucked tighter under Quinn’s stare, and heat chased the last of the goose bumps from her skin.
He dropped the hose to the ground, his slow strides predatory as he closed the distance between them.
“Quinn?” Her voice faltered, unsure, vaguely threatened.
“Victoria.”
Just her name, only her name. But his husky, deep voice carried a wealth of passion, need and reassurance. The instinctive female wariness within her, threatened by the sexually aroused male in Quinn, calmed and disappeared under a wave of heated excitement. Her head tilted back, her lashes lowering.
He gripped her waist and lifted her to sit on the wet fender, dropping his head to nuzzle the sensitive skin at the base of her throat where her pulse throbbed frantically. His hands brushed up the side of her ribcage and found her breasts, palming them with careful, barely controlled fierceness. His thumbs moved restlessly over the wet cloth covering her nipples, each stroke stealing her breath and forcing her heartbeat ever faster.
“Quinn.” She murmured. Her fingers clutched his shoulders, the sleek muscles taut, his satiny skin hot from the sun’s rays without and the desire that raged within.
He pushed her knees apart and wedged between, one hand cradling her bottom to pull her forward, flush against his jeans, just as his lips deserted her throat for her mouth.
Victoria was assaulted with heat. Beneath her hands, the satiny skin of his shoulders was burning. Against her midriff, flush with his, bare skin pressed against, shifted, and heated bare skin. Beneath the ragged edge of her cutoff jeans and against her sensitive inner thighs, worn denim rubbed gently against soft skin. His mouth was fused to hers, demanding, luring, seducing.
She wanted more. Much more. Frantic to get closer, she wrapped her legs around him, her calves rubbing the backs of his thighs.
He groaned, his hips pressing hard against her for a moment before he ripped his mouth from hers and dropped his head to her shoulder. His breath came in short, hard pants.
Victoria fought to catch her breath. Pressed tight against him, each labored breath she drew in carried the scent of soap and musky male. His body was strung taut, the muscles in his powerful arms corded, faint tremors shaking him as he fought for control.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he rasped, lifting his head to look at her. “It’s driving me crazy. Sooner or later, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” The words were out before she had time to consider them. They hung in the air, charging the space between them with tension so thick it seemed to pulse.
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
Guttural, the words were so low she could barely hear them, yet they pounded in her brain. The skin was drawn tight over his face, flushed cheekbones streaked with color, heavy-lidded eyes dark with arousal.
“Yes. No.” Frustrated, she shook her head. “I want you. Badly. But I never meant for this—us—to go this far.”
“I warned you. I told you that I don’t do relationships.”
“I know.” Her gaze searched his. “And I don’t do affairs. Where does that leave us, Quinn?”
“Hell.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head back, sucking in a deep breath and releasing it before he looked at her. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know, either,” she confessed. “I don’t want to stop seeing you, Quinn. I like you.”
His eyes narrowed. “I like you, too. I’d like you better after a couple of days in bed. Maybe we’d burn this out of our systems.”
“You think so?”
The interest and curiosity in her expression brought a reluctant laugh to his lips. “Maybe, I don’t know.”
“I’m not ready to go to bed with you, Quinn.”
His mouth twisted in an almost-smile, the full lower lip sensual.
“You damn sure feel ready.”
Victoria flushed. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him so badly she burned with frustration. “That’s my body talking, not my brain.”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s your body I want, not your brain.”
She stiffened, and he tugged the damp end of her ponytail.
“Easy, honey, I’m just being honest. Everything about your body turns me on, from this cute little ponytail to the girly pink paint on your toe-nails. But I have to admit that I like your brain, too.”
Her poker-stiff spine relaxed, but only a fraction.
“You do? Why?” Her voice was suspicious.
“Because you’re the first woman I’ve met who’s smart, funny, kind to old ladies and dogs, all wrapped up in one very sexy package. So, yeah, I guess your brain is part of the appeal.”
Mollified and secretly pleased by his words, Victoria’s back loosened and she relaxed against him.
“So what are we going to do about this?”
He sighed, deeply. “Nothing. Even if you were ready and willing, Becky’s upstairs and will probably be awake soon. Then t
here’s your uncle.”
“My uncle?”
“I owe him. It seems downright traitorous to repay him by taking his niece to bed.” He smiled at her. “Becky tells me that your aunt and uncle think the sun rises and sets in you. They’re as proud of you as they are of Lonna.”
“That’s nice to know. It’s mutual,” she added, his words warming her heart. “I think they’re pretty terrific, too.”
“Yeah.” Reluctantly, he stepped back from her. He propped his fists on the polished red metal, his arms caging her without touching her, and trapped her gaze with his intent stare. “There’s no wiggle room. None. So that means no more running around in wet scanty tops and bare legs, okay?”
“This top isn’t scanty.” Her protest was automatic.
“Right.” He flicked a quick, skeptical glance down her body and back up again to meet hers. “Try wearing one of those black gowns and veils women wear in Kuwait. I might be able to keep my hands off you if you’re smothered in heavy black material.”
Victoria laughed.
“In this heat? I don’t think so.”
“Somehow I knew you weren’t going to cooperate.” He caught her waist and swung her to the ground. “Let’s finish washing your car.” He fixed her with a steely gaze. “And do not turn that damned hose on me again.”
“Yes, Quinn.”
He left her, shaking his head and muttering, and headed around the car to finish scrubbing wheels. Victoria returned to sloshing water over the driver’s side door and scrubbing determinedly.
Later that evening, dinner finished and Becky contentedly watching a mystery on the television upstairs, Quinn and Victoria carried their coffee mugs outside to the porch. They bypassed the rocking chairs and chose to sit on the edge of the porch, feet stretched out across the shallow steps.
“You sit over there,” Quinn instructed. “And don’t come any closer than three feet.”
“Truce.” Victoria turned to face him, her back against the post, her legs angled companionably across the step toward his.
The sun dipped toward the horizon and slipped below, streaking the sky with bands of gold and pink, painting the underbellies of puffy white clouds with color. Dusk began to creep across the land, long shadows inching toward the two seated on the steps.
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