Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel (33 page)

Saxon was a fine animal, big and powerful, with his sire Stoneleigh’s speed and boldness and his dam Sava’s solidity and willingness. After so much time riding the broodmares, having the young gray’s energy beneath her as he carried her through the cool of the green woods and then over fields dotted with ox-eyed daisies and bluets, was pretty darn exhilarating. That Saxon was enjoying their jaunt was
evident in the constant swiveling of his ears, the energetic blowing of his nostrils, the springy high step of his gait, reminding her of all the coiled energy just waiting to be released the second she softened her hands on the reins and squeezed him forward with her legs.

And when she did, the gelding was more than game. He literally bounded forward into a canter that within ten strides shifted into a glorious gallop. Bent low over his bobbing neck, the warm late-afternoon air whipped her face, stretching her smile as they galloped on.

The only problem with Ned’s solution was that Rosewood, with its three hundred acres and the neighboring properties where they had permission to ride, wasn’t big enough to banish her sorrow completely. But she couldn’t keep Saxon out longer. They’d been out for over an hour and riding hard on hilly terrain. As strong as the gelding was, to do more would foolishly court injury.

Nevertheless, she realized there was an additional benefit to having ridden. By the time she cooled Saxon down, un-tacked him, washed him in the shower stall, and then walked him, letting him graze until his dried coat shone like burnished steel, she had killed nearly two and a half hours. Only sixty-six or so more to go until she saw her children again.

So she volunteered to help at feeding time, first walking the hose down the wide aisles to top off the water buckets in each stall, then joining Tito in divvying up sections of hay and dropping them into the stalls as Felix scooped and poured rations of grain pellets into rubber feed tubs. Long accustomed to the work, Tito and Felix were extraordinarily efficient. The three of them had the horses fed and watered in all three barns within an hour. Then there was nothing for it except to head up to the house and resist peering into the children’s empty rooms as she went to her own room to shower.

But the baby powder she dusted on her body after toweling herself dry made her think of Olivia, and then the phone
rang with Kate on the line sounding happy and so very far away.

“Olivia’s and my bedroom has little purple flowers on the walls, Mommy. Olivia had strawberry ice cream and it got all over her shirt, but Daddy said that’s okay. And Cynthia gave me a necklace made of little pink shells from Hawaii. And she gave Max a boat and Olivia a doll.”

“I’m glad you’re having such a good time.”

“I wish you were here, too, Mommy.”

“Well, this is Daddy and Cynthia’s special time with you. You’ll see me on Sunday when Daddy drives you back. So you keep having fun and helping Daddy with Olivia and Max. Okay?”

Max seemed equally content, and Olivia, perhaps on the sugar high Jade had so darkly predicted, or perhaps simply thrilled to be up past her bedtime, babbled a blue streak.

Hanging up, Jordan knew there was no way she could stay in the house a minute longer.

Where to go, what to do?

She could work, that’s what. Seizing on the answer like a lifeline, she practically sprinted into the family room and gathered up the sample books lying by the foot of her desk where she’d been looking at them the night before. Hugging them to her, she hurried down the back stairs, immediately announcing to Travis and Margot, who were in the early stages of fixing dinner, “I’m off to Hawk Hill to get some work done. It’d be foolish not to take advantage of this free time.”

“And dinner?” Margot asked.

“Not hungry.”

“Even after that ride?” she persisted.

“Really.”

“But—”

Travis laid a hand on Margot’s arm. “Jordan’s a big girl,” he said, his mouth crooking in an answering smile to the grateful one Jordan sent him. “Say hi to Owen, and tell him
if he wants to come and lend a hand with the foals this weekend, we could use the help. Bob Dillard called while you were out with Saxon. He’s bringing some clients to look at Solstice and Beat the Clock.”

“That’s great. But I don’t think we’ll be getting any free labor from Owen this weekend. I’m pretty sure he said something to Doug about going to Alexandria.”

“So he won’t be at Hawk Hill even now?” Travis asked.

“I doubt it,” she replied lightly. “But he showed me where he keeps the front-door key so I can let myself in. I’ll probably work until pretty late. Call my cell if you need me.”

“You be careful,” Margot said, clearly unable to shake her mother-hen attitude.

“I always am.”

The pounding bass beat of a rock song escaping through the open windows of Hawk Hill told Jordan how very wrong she’d been in assuming she would be alone at the house. It must be Owen. Diligent as Doug and Jesse were, they weren’t crazy enough to work overtime on a Friday night.

She walked inside, not bothering to knock or ring because neither could have competed with the Rolling Stones at full throttle.

The music being blasted was a far cry from the Cole Porter Owen had played on the piano, but then so was his appearance, her feet and mind stumbling to a stunned halt as she took in his sweat-covered torso. He’d stripped to the waist to plane a door that was propped on two sawhorses.

For a man who looked as suave and cool as a woman could wish in impeccably tailored clothes, Owen Gage dirtied up darn well.

She swallowed, unable to take her eyes off the rhythmic motions of his strong body; the heavy flex of his biceps as he moved his arms along the length of the door; his back muscles, covered with a tantalizing sheen of sweat, rippled
in shifting contours, the lines of his torso tapering at his waist to where his jeans sat on his lean hips, just below the twin hollows at the base of his spine.

Her gaze shifted south, lingered there, as she might in front of a beautiful sculpture, so easily could she picture the curve of his buttocks beneath the layer of denim, an ass she knew would be as deliciously muscled as the rest of him.

Just then Owen spun around and she was caught with her gaze directed right at the clustered bulge of his crotch.

Hastily she tore her eyes away—up. But that was no good.

God, he had such a … a
masculine
chest, she thought dazedly, everything inside her going fluttery and fluid at the dark hair matting the solid planes. She wanted to run her fingers through it, follow its path as it narrowed into an erotic arrow down his flat belly.

“Jordan. What are you doing here?” Owen asked with what struck her as a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Going out of her mind, that much was obvious.

Belatedly remembering that she had four pattern books in her arms, she managed to say, “I’m here to check the fabrics and colors for the bedrooms. It’s always good to look at them at different hours of the day, and I was free.” That definitely sounded better than “I was staring at your naked torso and imagining what the rest of you looks like.” Of their own volition, her eyes flicked over the flat brown circles of his nipples. Her own tightening in achy response, she squeezed the design books tighter.

Swamped with a sudden feeling of hopelessness, she nearly squeezed her eyes shut, too. Here was a half-naked man and she had no idea how to behave around him. She would have had a hard enough time knowing how to flirt with the Owen of old. But looking as he did now, a brawny, sweaty, musky male, he drove any flirting skills she might have possessed right through the open windows.

“And what are you doing here?” she asked with a touch of resentment. “I thought you were going to be in Alexandria.”

As though underscoring his transformation into a he-man, Owen actually grunted. “Spring cold.”

“You’re sick?”

“No.”

“Oh.” And then she understood. Thank God she hadn’t been foolish and thrown herself at him. He was only here because his date was curled up with a box of Kleenex.

He’d been watching her connect the dots with an impassive expression. “The children are with your ex?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes.” Her anxiety returned in full.

“And so you’re here?”

His he-man transformation was complete in every way. Now he was posing repetitive as well as obtuse questions. That, combined with the dark slash of his frowning brows as though he couldn’t believe she was so pathetic that she’d spend her Friday night working in an empty house, made her snap, “Yes, I forgot to line up all my eager lovers, so I had to settle for second best, figuring out whether I like ‘Buffed’ or ‘Solo’ better as colors for the east bedroom.” An apt metaphor for the present situation: he was buffed, she was solo. Unwilling to hear another one of those grunts that emanated from deep inside his beautifully ridged abdomen, she spun around to stalk up the stairs.

“I’ll need to take a shower in the master bathroom.”

Owen naked in the shower. Water flattening the dark hair of his chest, his groin, and down his long legs as it raced in hot rivers over him.

She congratulated herself on not falling flat on her face.

Owen couldn’t stop thinking of Jordan upstairs, that he and she were finally alone, not a carpenter, electrician, plumber, sister, or kid in sight. The knowledge was enough to make his heart thud heavily in his chest as sexual hunger pumped through his veins. But he made himself finish planing the door, carrying it over to the jamb to rehang it, checking that it would open and shut smoothly,
even when covered with whatever new coat of paint Jordan chose for it.

The work allowed him to regain a measure of control. When he’d turned around to find her staring at him, he’d come damn close to throwing caution to the winds and jumping her. To hauling her up against the wall and diving his hands under that pretty dress so they could streak over those subtly fragrant curves that had been driving him mad for too long, and then wrapping his hands around her bare thighs and lifting her legs high on his hips as he ground his cock against her. With that light-as-air cotton dress she was wearing bunched up around her waist, it would be so easy to strip off her panties, three heart-trembling tugs and she’d be open and ready for him …

A pretty, come-fuck-me dress Jordan hadn’t even put on for him.

As buckets of dripping cold reality went, the realization that she hadn’t even been thinking about him was extremely effective at dousing his mind-searing lust. Somewhat more rational, he was able to figure out that Jordan was only here because she was freaked out about her kids’ weekend stay with their father. It was not because she was twisted in pretzel knots of lust.

Though that wasn’t quite right, he corrected silently. He’d caught the widening of her deep blue eyes as she checked him out. It was clear she’d liked what she’d seen. Being an object of feminine appreciation was fine by him. She could look all she wanted. He’d really like it if she went and did some touching, tasting, and feeling, too.

And if he didn’t get to reciprocate in kind very soon, and show her how much he wanted to touch and taste and nibble—devour—every inch of her silky skin, he was going to go out of his fucking mind.

Keeping his desire for Jordan at bay had made for a brutal week of hammering and sawing, as he basically signed on
as an extra carpenter working alongside Jesse and Doug. But the physical labor made the nights tolerable. Working late into the evening, he would flop exhausted onto the mattress in the master bedroom and slide into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, however, found him like Sisyphus: right back where he started. One look at Jordan, and the cycle of wanting would begin anew.

Determined to break it, he’d called Fiona that morning, telling himself it didn’t matter that on their last date Fiona had displayed the beginnings of a verboten possessiveness, a sign that she had coupledom on her mind. He could handle Fiona’s new agenda far better than the terrible distraction Jordan embodied. But when Fiona answered the phone and he heard her hoarse, nasal-clogged voice, his immediate reaction had been bizarre and inexplicable, especially as he’d been the one to call. He’d been relieved. That a part of him was actually happy to be denied the chance to lose himself in Fiona’s perfectly lovely body had not improved his mood.

That’s why he’d told Jordan about his plans for the evening having fallen through. Although she had at present this strange power over his libido, he wanted her to know that he wasn’t going to sit around pining for her. Never mind that none of the women in his cellphone address book sparked the slightest interest. A day would come when they would.

And what the hell had Jordan meant by that crack about ignoring all her lovers? Did that mean there were no men currently in her life? If so, what in hell was wrong with the men of Warburg that they weren’t lining up the long drive to Rosewood for a chance to be with her? Were they too stupid to live?

Who cared? Their loss was Owen’s gain. Jordan was here tonight with him. And he wasn’t going to let an opportunity like this go to waste. Time to get his butt in gear, shower off
the grit and sweat, scrape off the five o’clock shadow roughening his cheeks, and pull on some clothes that didn’t reek to high heaven.

Then he was going to embark on all-out campaign to get Jordan Radcliffe naked.