Too Hot to Handle

by Chanta Rand

  “Both.”

  Mason’s heartbeat went from a slow gallop to a swift trot. He stared at her then cocked his head to the side. “Jewell, you’re a strange woman. I can’t figure you out.”

  “Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

  “I promise, I’m not strange at all, once you get to know me.”

  Earlier, he swore he’d leave her alone. But now, the little head won out over the big head, and he surrendered without a fight. He was hungry for a taste of her. He bent and did what he’d wanted to do all day. He captured her tempting mouth and took what he wanted, boldly pressing past the softness of her lips to suckle her warm, wet tongue. His big hands circled her shapely waist as he roughly pulled her body close to his. His mouth fused to hers, his tongue demanding her submission. He needed to satisfy his thirst for her.

  Jewell’s hands came up and wrapped around his neck, pulling him deeper, welcoming his kisses. The purring from her throat was like music to his ears. It fed his ego. Catching her signal, he pushed her against the car, pinning her beneath his hard body. The evidence of his erection pressed against her. He wanted to brand her with his kiss. Wanted to explore the depths of her sweet mouth. Needed to taste everything she had to offer. Jewell was a real woman, not some silly imitation who didn’t know what she wanted. She gave as good as she got. She was feminine, but tough. The kind of woman he wanted to know better – every inch of her. He’d never felt this level of excitement just from a kiss. The kisses he’d shared with other women in the past were chaste in comparison. And he’d never been remotely attracted to Portia like this.

  Damn! The thought of his fiancée was like ice water slapping him in the face. What kind of cruel bastard was he? He was acting greedy, wanting his cake and ice cream too! He couldn’t do this to Jewell. In less than three weeks, he’d be another woman’s husband. And despite his feelings right now, he had no right to take advantage of Jewell. She deserved better. He pulled away, reluctantly leaving the tempting warmth of her mouth.

  “No,” he muttered. “This ain’t right.”

  The look on Jewell’s face tore at him. A mixture of confusion and hurt clouded her features. Her eyes were accusing, and her lips were kiss-swollen from his brutal assault on her mouth.

  “Of course,” she stammered. “How rude of me. Now, I’m the one who’s being ill-mannered.” She fumbled through her purse and recovered her car keys.

  “Jewell, wait a minute.”

  “I don’t have a minute.” She opened her door and hastily got inside her Beemer. “I’ve already stayed longer than I intended.”

  He heard the unmistakable edge of anger tainting her voice. He grabbed her arm through the open window. “Jewell, will you, just listen to me?”

  She shrugged him off. “There’s nothing to listen to.” She jammed her keys into the ignition, jolted the car to life, and burned rubber down the road, damn near taking his foot off in the process.

  FIVE

  Days later, Jewell sat moping in her office. Not even her back log of emails could pull her out of her funk. She stared out her third floor window watching a squirrel running the length of a tree limb, scampering away with more than his fair share of nuts. May was slowly ebbing away, losing ground to the steamy month of June. Only two more weeks until the wedding. She snorted aloud. All this time, she’d worried that Mason would be a difficult student. She had no idea she would be the one getting schooled.

  “You should call him.”

  She turned toward the door to find Bree, who’d decided to join her pity party. They were alone in the office. Clark was on lunch. Shayla on vacation. Bree sat down, leaned back in a Herman Miller chair, and propped her feet on a vacant trashcan. The lime green designer shoes she wore looked like glow-in-the-dark half-moons on her long feet. Her posture reminded Jewell of a similar move Mason pulled at his home when they’d first met.

  “I’m not calling him, Bree. Besides, I’m too embarrassed.”

  “Nonsense, you’re just feeling stupid.”

  “And rejected.”

  “And played.”

  “I can never face him again.”

  “You’re better than this, Jewell. I’ve always known you to confront challenges head on.”

  She sulked. “My professional integrity has been compromised.”

  “Oh, c’mon. You’re not the first person to have romantic feelings for a client. Nothing’s been compromised but your pride.”

  “I kissed him twice. I’m basically no better than a prostitute.”

  “No, I don’t think prostitutes kiss their johns. Something about not getting too personal.”

  She slumped in her chair. “I can’t even get that part right.”

  Bree laughed. “Girl, stop beating yourself up. I guarantee no prostitute is making enough money off one client to get her nephew into Julliard.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Hell yes!”

  “Well it doesn’t.” She sighed. “I think I should just walk away from this one, Bree.”

  “What?” Bree leaned forward on her chair, her wide, multi-colored bangles clinking together when she moved. “Are you going to let Andy’s dream go down the toilet just because some guy made your panties wet and you were humiliated by your response?”

  Jewell remained silent, not sure how to answer. She studied her two-week old manicure wishing she could go back to the day she’d visited the nail salon. Before she’d met Mason. Her life was so much simpler fourteen days ago.

  “He did make your panties wet, didn’t’ he?” Bree probed.

  “You better know it.”

  Bree giggled. “Then it was worth it.”

  “If it’s all the same, I think I’ll let one of you guys handle him from now on. I’ll give you the agenda and you can work it out with Clark and Shayla.”

  “Girl, don’t let me be his teacher. I might sexually assault that fine man.”

  Jewell smacked her lips. “That’s not funny.”

  “Call him,” Bree ordered. “Or I swear I will.”

  Jewell was about to say something when the office phone loudly interrupted her. Bree ran to go answer it. She came back less than a minute later, grinning like the Joker.

  “Portia Rothchild on line one,” she announced.

  Jewell cringed. She’d rather get blood drawn than take this call. And she hated needles! She exhaled forcefully before picking up the line from her desk phone. “Hello Portia.”

  “Hello Jewell,” Portia’s privileged voice filled the line. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I thought we agreed to weekly status reports.”

  “My apologies. I’ve been swamped this week,” Jewell lied.

  “Swamped? Oh bless your heart, honey.”

  Code-speak for ‘Who gives a shit? I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’

  “How’s everything going with Mason?” Portia asked.

  “Things are progressing as expected.”

  “Meaning?”

  Your man is still a barbarian. But he’s also a great kisser.

  “We’ve covered international protocol and some social etiquette, including a wine tasting of the wedding Valpolicella. Yesterday, he learned the Waltz. He’s a natural dancer.” She didn’t add that Mason’s two-step impressed her far more than his ballroom dancing.

  “Excellent! I knew you could handle him.”

  Hah! That man is too hot for anyone to handle.

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “That’s all I can ask for. I’m trusting you, Jewell Davenport. My wedding is in your hands.”

  Great. No pressure.

  Jewell hung up the phone and sank deeper into her chair. If guilt was an accessory, she’d be best dressed today. That was a tough call, but the next one would be even tougher.

  ********

  The next afternoon, Jewell pulled off the Beltway and drove down the wide, winding road leading to Mason’s house. Yesterday, after she’d spoken with Portia, she’d c
alled Mason to set up his next lesson. With only two weeks left until the wedding, she certainly had her work cut out. Tonight, she would ensure that Mason was strictly business. There would be no fooling around – or worse yet, her making a fool of herself. She’d brought along a security policy – Andy. The fresh air would be good for him. Plus, it would guarantee she and Mason would never be alone together. She’d originally thought about bringing Bree, but she didn’t want the woman getting drool all over Mason.

  “Wow!” Andy gushed. “This is so cool. How long is this driveway? How many acres does this guy have? Are those cows male or female? Are fish in that pond?”

  Jewell smiled at the occupant in the passenger seat. She had to remember “boy genius” was just that – a boy. Having been raised in the city all his life, it was no surprise Andy was blown away by the countryside. “The answer to each question is I don’t know. You can ask Mr. Kincaid when you meet him.”

  The Kincaid Ranch looked like something straight out of a western. In the front of the property, fat cows leisurely roamed, munching on the thick, green grass and taking turns at the salt lick. Miles of wooden posts and barb wire fencing safely enclosed them. Straight ahead, the sprawling Kincaid estate loomed in the distance, the four Greek pillars reminiscent of an antebellum-style plantation. To the right was a corral and a big red barn that she supposed housed the horses. To the left was a log bunk house, a guest house, and a massive tool shed.

  Jewell steered her BMW along the long paved driveway, past the sprawling pond and towering oak trees. Men were hard at work, performing a variety of tasks, including shoeing horses and loading hay. It was a perfect seventy-two degrees, but it was only eleven a.m. In a matter of hours, it would heat up like butter on a griddle.

  Jewell parked her car near the front of Mason’s home, remotely aware that hers was the only luxury sedan surrounded by a bevy of trucks. If Andy seemed impressed by the property, he was awed by the owner. Mason Kincaid loomed over Andy like one of the oak trees they’d passed earlier. Sporting his signature dusty jeans and a grey t-shirt that hugged the curves of his chiseled torso, the man was an imposing figure. His full beard was untrimmed, making him look more rugged than ever. This was the first time she’d ever seen him without his Stetson. His close cropped haircut made him seem more vulnerable than before. Jewell shook off her thoughts and forced herself to focus.

  “Mason Kincaid, meet my nephew, Andy,” Jewell said. “Andy, meet Mr. Kincaid.”

  Andy remembered his manners, and Jewell was pleased to see him shake Mason’s hand and say ‘Yes sir’ in all the appropriate places. The two seemed to hit it off immediately. Mason even answered Andy’s barrage of questions about the ranch.

  Jewell watched as the two interacted. Andy’s eyes were wide with wonder and who could blame him? Her own heart stopped no less than three times listening to Mason’s deep baritone. The man was sinfully sexy. At one point, she was caught off guard, and there was a moment of awkward silence as Mason stared at her.

  Andy spoke up. “I just remembered, I left my guitar in the car.”

  Before Jewell could utter another word, he’d trotted off to get it. She couldn’t imagine why he had to have that guitar this very moment.

  She felt Mason’s eyes appraising her. “You look incredible,” he told her.

  Her pulse quickened. For days, she’d tried to put the intimacy of their past meeting behind her. She didn’t dare let her feelings for him resurface. “Thanks,” she said, keeping her distance. “Are you ready for our lesson?”

  “Yep. I’m just finishing up a quick email.” He nodded toward the open door to his office behind him.

  Jewell peeped inside and saw a laptop on the spacious desk that dominated the room. “You have a computer?”

  His eyebrows jumped a quarter inch. “Do you think you think I’m a complete savage?”

  “No,” she stammered. “Well…uh…Portia said…”

  He shook his head. “Portia looks down on anyone who doesn’t know the difference between caviar and pâté.”

  Jewell couldn’t resist picking at him. “And you do?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Andy rushed back through the door carrying his guitar case, saving her from a rebuttal. “Got it!”

  “Good,” Jewell approved. “Let’s get started.

  Dinner included steak and potatoes catered from Saltgrass Steak House. Jewell figured a T-bone was the one thing Mason wouldn’t spit out. The three of them were seated in one of the three elegant dining rooms the home boasted. Above them, hung a chandelier made of antler horns, bones and something that looked like leather cording. Not her taste, but it appeared to have been created by a skilled craftsman.

  They began with a dinner salad. And that’s when the trouble started. Mason stared at the assortment of utensils as if he were trying to work the controls of a cockpit.

  “Why do I need two forks?” he demanded to know.

  “One is for the salad and the other is for the entrée,” Jewell answered.

  “Ridiculous,” he growled. “They both do the same thing.”

  Andy giggled. “At first I was confused too, Mr. Kincaid. But this is how I tell them apart.” He held both forks in the air. “I use the little one for the little meal, or the salad. And the big one for the big meal. In this case, the steak.”

  Jewell smiled. Apparently everything didn’t go in one ear and out the other with Andy. “If you’re ever in a situation where the forks are the same size,” Jewell added, “Work from the outside in, meaning you use the utensils that are the furthest from the plate first and then work your way down to the ones closest to your plate with each course.”

  Mason picked up the small fork, gobbled up the salad, and looked at her with a slightly irritated glare. “Alright, I’m done with the rabbit food. What’s next?”

  Andy’s laugh was silenced by the long stare Jewell gave him. The steak was served next. Jewell watched in horror as Mason held his fork like a dagger in his left fist and sawed the steak with the knife in his right hand. It was like a scene straight out of Medieval Times.

  Thank God Portia isn’t here to see this. She’d probably fall into a dead faint. Jewell took the time to show Mason how to properly hold his fork and cut his steak. If he wasn’t so damn fine, his actions would be unforgiveable. It was bad enough Andy was grinning like an idiot the entire time.

  They made it through the rest of the dinner with no interruptions. During dessert, Jewell’s cell phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID. Lucinda. “I’m sorry,” Jewell apologized. “I have to take this.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” Mason grumbled. “I need some fresh air. C’mon Andy, let’s go outside.” He pointed to the guitar. “Then you can show me what you can do with that thing.”

  Jewell watched them leave then answered her call. She spent thirty minutes soothing Lucinda’s frazzled nerves. Apparently, someone at the firm had found out about her condition and she’d been passed up for a project that involved extensive travel. Her Human Resources department was concerned that the travel would affect her pregnancy. Jewell could have sworn that type of discrimination was illegal. But she was only an image consultant, not a corporate attorney – and certainly not a therapist! Which is what her clients often mistook her for.

  This wasn’t the first time a client had called demanding her expertise or just a shoulder to cry on. It was the nature of the beast. With all her retail connections, she could just as easily open up a chain of shoe stores. Shoes were so much simpler to deal with than people. They didn’t call to interrupt during dinner and they certainly didn’t cry! With Andy guaranteed to go to Julliard, it was an idea she just might consider.

  After hanging up with Lucinda, she tracked Andy down. It wasn’t too hard. The melodic chords of his Acoustic guitar floated through the air, leaving an audible trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow. She spotted him in the distance, down by the corral, encircled by a group of cowboys. It was a tranquil scene. The sun was sit
ting low. Jed was blowing a harmonica. Skeeter was inside the corral, putting a colt through his paces. Someone started singing Mamas Don’t Let your Babies Grow up to Be Cowboys by Willie Nelson. They seemed comfortable with no rules. Just men. She watched from afar while they sang and played various instruments. She didn’t want to intrude. When the song stopped, Mason rubbed Andy’s head. Andy smiled. A pang of jealousy stabbed her heart. Andy hadn’t allowed her to do that in years. He was too grown for motherly affection. Now, she could see how much he needed male companionship. She couldn’t be all things to him, no matter how much she wanted to.

  “You’re not joining the fun?”

  Jewell turned to see a blustery old man with a big belly and a cane. His starched white shirt was stuffed into crisp jeans, which were in turn, stuffed into dark colored cowboy boots. She wasn’t an expert on skins, but if she guessed correctly, they were made of lizard. Minus the gray temples and mustache, he looked suspiciously like Mason.

  Jewell smiled at him. “I decided they probably didn’t want any women around.”

  He nodded. “Smart and beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m Reed Kincaid, Mason’s father.”

  The man didn’t have to tell her. It was evident. She extended her hand. “Jewell Davenport.”

  Just like his son, Reed Kincaid roughly clasped her hand like he was handling a leathery baseball mitt. “Pleased to finally meet you, Ms. Davenport. I guess we have you to thank for the new and improved Mason.”

  Jewell grinned. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Mason thinks he’s fine just the way he is.” She glanced at Mason and then back to his father. “If he thinks I’ve made progress, he’ll start acting up just to irk me.”

  “You’ve taken on one hell of a project.”

  “Initially, he wouldn’t have won any awards for Mr. Congeniality, but once you get to know him, you realize he’s a very warm individual. But I don’t have to tell you that. You’re his dad. You already know.”

  Reed fixed his dark eyes on her. She felt like he was probing into her soul, trying to figure her out. “You’re different than I thought you’d be.”