Twice Kissed (17 page)

Maggie nodded, felt his head turn and his eyes study her face. For a split second she thought he might kiss her, might tip her chin with one strong finger, forcing her to twist her neck so that he could capture her lips with his. Her heart thundered, her pulse skyrocketed, and she stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, sensing his gaze lower to her shoulders and chest, rising and falling with each one of her ragged breaths. “I—I see,” she said, nodding slowly, trying to clear her head, but as long as any inch of his skin touched hers, rational thought proved impossible.

“Good. Whoa.” He pulled gently up on the reins, Ink Spot slowed, and he swung to the ground easily. Maggie nearly lost her balance. “Now, you try. Yourself.”

Oh, yeah, right,
she thought, but managed to encourage the piebald to a trot, somehow handle the reins though she felt as if she were all thumbs, and guide the horse around the paddock while keeping her seat. Fence posts and clumps of dry grass marked her progress; horseflies hovered in the air.

Thane stood, long legs apart, arms folded over his chest, eyes trained on her every move. His shoulders stretched the seams of his faded blue T-shirt, his biceps bulged, and she thought then that he was probably the sexiest man on the planet.

“Better.” He nodded, his eyes narrowing as he watched, his lips compressed, that blond-streaked hank of hair falling into his eyes. “Definitely better. Work on it.”

“I—I will,” she promised, and wondered why he made her feel like a schoolgirl. Checking his watch, he flashed her a smile guaranteed to break a young girl’s heart. “Class is over.”

“Good.”

“Wanna do it again next week?”

Yes!
“Probably.”

“Let me know.”

“I will,” she promised, knowing that she’d work extra hard at her job, collect as much money as she could in tips and wages, just to spend an hour this close to him. It was crazy, she realized as she turned Ink Spot toward the open gate and the arid fields beyond. He was too old for her. Way too old. And he was a stranger—a kind of mystery man from Wyoming somewhere. A cowboy who’d probably been kicked out of high school before he’d graduated and had never so much as set one foot inside a university. Her parents would faint if they thought she was interested in this guy—a lowlife from the wrong side of the tracks.

But Maggie couldn’t help herself. She found Thane Walker downright fascinating, and, for the first time in her seventeen years, she didn’t give a damn what her mother, father or even Mary Theresa thought. This time, she was going to make her own decisions about her life, and the devil could damn well take his due.

A few days later, Maggie was still troubled, her mind jumbled with thoughts of Thane and her splintered family. Each day the tension seemed worse, and she sought solace as she rode through Flora’s acres alone even though she sensed a storm approaching.

The creek bed was dry, littered with rocks, not so much as a trickle of water or muddy patch indicating that water ever ran through this part of Flora’s ranch. Astride a fidgety Ink Spot, Maggie surveyed the chasm that cut through the parched acres and tried to imagine it with water bubbling and rushing over the stones, with insects skipping on the surface and tadpoles congregating in the deeper pools, but all she saw was dirt clods, clumps of dry grass, and dead, dust-dry leaves.

Clucking her tongue to the horse, she tried to shake off her bad mood, but found it wedged firmly in her psyche. As oppressive as the clouds that gathered in the sky, the feeling that something cataclysmic was about to happen weighed heavily in her heart.

Ever since she’d seen Mitch and Mary Theresa together, she’d felt this, the premonition that all hell was about to break loose, and the thick, roiling clouds that had blown in off the ocean hundreds of miles away did nothing to dispel her apprehension. She edged Ink Spot toward the stand of monstrous eucalyptus trees near the northeast corner of the ranch. Once in the shade, she dismounted and dusted her hands. Perching on the edge of a boulder, she looked across the canyon. Vineyards stretched over the rolling hills, row upon row of grapevines interspersed with access roads. The leaves were still lush and green, and soon the grapes would be harvested, crushed, and their juice aged in oak casks. Not that she cared. Not that she really gave a damn. Her blouse stuck to her back, and sweat seeped from her pores. Ink Spot lifted her nose to the teeniest breath of wind and snorted, shaking her head and rattling her bridle as a horsefly hovered near her head.

Biting her lip, Maggie slid off the giant rock and lay back on the prickly dry grass. Through the branches, she viewed the sky, thick with dark and troubling clouds. Her ponytail pulled at her head, and she yanked out the rubber band, then finger-combed her hair and stretched. How many nights had it been since she’d slept well? A week? Two?

Rolling over, she rested her head on her arm and closed her eyes. The drone of insects was interspersed with the squawk of a blue jay hidden in the branches overhead. She felt at peace here, more at peace than she did at home or work. Here she could escape, if only for a little while…

Thane finally caught sight of the piebald grazing, white-and-black tail switching at flies, riderless among a copse of scraggly oak and eucalyptus trees. With a sense of satisfaction he urged his mount, Buster, forward and ignored the spark that fired in his blood whenever he was around Maggie.

He’d known that she’d taken Ink Spot out this afternoon. Hell, he’d sensed her presence the minute she’d shown up at the ranch sometime around noon, and he’d been barely able to concentrate since. There was something about her that he found fascinating, more than that really, she was downright tempting. There were a dozen reasons he should avoid her like the plague. She was too young, a kid, not quite eighteen. She was a princess, lived in the pricey part of town, wheeled around with that snotty twin of hers in a goddamned BMW and sometimes a Mercedes. She was his boss, in a manner of speaking, and she had a smart mouth on her, the kind of girl or woman he usually detested.

Besides that, he had his own demons to deal with. He couldn’t get close to anyone and reminded himself that she was way out of his league. If she had any inkling as to his past…if anyone did…The dark part of his soul opened for a second, let in a little shaft of light, then withered away again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t outrun his past. Sooner or later it would catch up with him.

That was the bottom line; he couldn’t get involved with a woman, especially a girl who’d been raised to expect the better things in life. It was just too damned dangerous.

And yet he’d found it impossible to stay away from her. As if she were Eve in the garden of Eden, he was tempted. Sorely tempted. To the point that just looking at her brought a stiff erection that was damned near painful as it pushed against the button fly of his Levi’s.

Lately his nights had been assailed with images of her and he’d fantasized about her, even while alone in his unmade bed, with only his hand as comfort. He’d thought about the flash of defiance in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, curve of her mouth, and the way she chewed on the corner of her lip whenever she was nervous. Though he’d tried not to, he hadn’t been able to ignore that her breasts would fit snugly into a man’s palm or that her buttocks were round, firm, and usually tense.

Now, as he approached the shadowed grove, a black-and-white magpie screeched, its yellow beak open wide in the branches above the ridge where Maggie lay.

She was stretched out on her side, her eyes closed, and his heart seized at the thought that perhaps she’d been thrown, struck her head on a rock, and lay either dead or unconscious. Jaw clenched, he dropped the reins, dismounted quickly, and knelt at her side. “Maggie? Hey.” He touched her shoulder, felt her warm skin beneath his fingers and the prickle of desire that came with it. “Hey, kid, are you all right?”

As she roused and her eyes blinked open, he was taken with the depth of her gaze, the green of her eyes, so vibrant and alive, the dark fringe of lashes.

She let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead in the next county.

“Maggie—”

Quickly she struggled to a sitting position.

Both horses spooked, neighing nervously.

“Shh!” His fingers tightened over her shoulder, and he felt the warmth of her seep into his blood.

“Wha—oh, God!” Her hand covered the spot where her blouse closed over a top button and where, he presumed, her heart was pumping wildly. Between her splayed fingers he caught a glimpse of skin, of cleavage where the lapels gaped.

His crotch tightened painfully.

“Damn it, Walker, you scared the devil out of me!”

“I didn’t mean to, but—” He dropped his hand and felt like a damned fool. His jaw hardened, and he forced the desire that had already started burning in his blood to cool. He wanted her. Hell, he’d wanted her from the first second he’d seen her walking at the side of the road in those tight little cutoff jeans. “I thought you might’ve been thrown.”

“What? No. Thrown, but why—?” She looked as if she might be offended; her words seemed to tangle in her throat and her cheeks flushed an enticing shade of pink. “Where’s Ink Spot—?” Anxiously she scanned the ridge where boulders and late-blooming wildflowers erupted from the dusty ground.

“She’s fine.” He hitched his chin in the direction of the two horses who, calming, had begun to pick at the sparse blades of bleached grass. He told himself to back off. They were too close; it had been too long since he’d been with a woman.

“I…I must’ve dropped off.” Maggie, obviously embarrassed, stood quickly and brushed the dirt and grass from her shorts. “What time is it?”

“A little after three. You need to be somewhere?”

“No.” She shook her head and glanced at the threatening sky. “Not for a while. I’m supposed to be at work at five-thirty.”

“Then we’ve got some time.” He heard the words and silently cursed himself.

“For what?” she asked.

“Whatever it is you want, Maggie.”

She looked down at him, still squatted on the ground, and he watched her throat work. “What is it you think I want?”

“Someone to talk to.”

“Oh, yeah?” She crossed her arms over her chest as if she was about to argue with him, so he slowly rose and stood, regaining the height advantage. “Why is it you’re always telling me what I need or want?”

“You asked.”

“I know but you’re always…giving me advice. I don’t remember ever asking for any.”

“Sit down, Maggie.”

She angled her chin up and stared at him. “Why?”

He gave no answer, because he had none. Instead he linked his fingers with hers, saw denial forming in her eyes, and ignored it as he pulled them both to the ground again. Refusing to listen to the warning bells clanging in his mind, he stared into those wide, innocent, and oh-so-seductive eyes. “I’d just like to get to know you.”

She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. Looking at him, she rested her chin on her knees and watched him with thinly veiled suspicion. “So, what’re you doin’ up here?”

He thought about lying, making up some excuse as he rocked back on his heels. There were lots of odd jobs that he could claim needed his attention—the fence, downed trees, trespassers—but he thought better of it and tried to keep his gaze from wandering along her legs, up, past the bend of her knee where her thighs disappeared beneath the ragged hemline of her shorts and the tiniest bit of panty lace was visible. “I came looking for you,” he admitted.

“For me?” She was wary, disbelief obvious in her eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“You left the stable a couple of hours ago, and I thought it was time…that maybe something had happened.”
And I want to make love to you. Damn it, girl, run. Run now!

“Oh.” Disappointment clouded her gaze. Her lips twisted into a little, crestfallen pout. Her teeth sank lower into her lip, and he wondered how it would feel to kiss her, to touch her, to run his hands along the smooth flesh of her arms and legs and…“Well, you found me. I’m fine. And I really think it’s time I should be going.” She started to rise, and he should have let her, just let her climb on that damned black-and-white mare and ride down the trail to the ranch house. But he didn’t.

Instinctively he reached out, the fingers of one hand surrounding her bare arm. Her muscles flexed beneath his fingers. Her head snapped up. The pupils of her eyes dilated a bit, but she didn’t draw away.

“Stay a while.”

“Why?” He saw her throat work as she swallowed. She was nervous, nervous as hell. So was he. He shouldn’t be doing this, talking to her, touching her.

“We could get to know each other.”

“Why?” Again, that damned question.

He hesitated just a second. Thought hard. His fingers tightened over her arm. “Because, Maggie,” he said, his eyes searching the jade green of hers, “because I want to.” He leaned forward just a bit, so that his face was closer to hers, close enough to sense her breath catch. “Because
you
want to.”

Her gaze skittered to his mouth, then back to his eyes, and the innocent desire he saw on her face was his undoing.

“I should be shot for this,” he whispered, then, with a hand to the back of her head, he pulled her forward, slanted his lips over hers, and lost himself in her kiss.

Maggie closed her eyes. She told herself not to panic as each warm, incredible sensation swept over her. Her blood was on fire, her lungs constricted, and when she felt his tongue press against the seam of her lips, she sighed, parting to him, thrilling to the feel of his tongue as it slid past her teeth, slick, wet, searching, flicking against each sensitive recess.

Warm heat, like tallow running down a burning candle, seeped through her extremities. His breathing was shallow. Ragged as the gust of wind that brought the scent of rain. He trembled as they fell back against the ground, and she moaned, unable to deny the pleasure that rippled through her. She lost sight of what was real and what was fantasy.

Somewhere a magpie cried, and a horse nickered softly, but it wasn’t here in this time and place. The here and now was filled with the scents of leather and smoke, the taste of salt on skin, the feel of callused, rough hands reaching beneath her tank top, of fingers grazing her nipples.

He kissed her hard, so hard her head spun, so hard she felt a desperate yearning deep in the most delicate core of her. She didn’t protest when he lifted her tank top from her shorts or when he bowed his head and pressed hot, wet kisses to the bare skin stretched over her breastbone. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and he nuzzled, gently at first, but harder and harder, his tongue dipping along the lacy edge of her bra.

Pulsing and hot, desire sped through her bloodstream. In the back of her mind she told herself that she should stop this now, before it was too late, but the words died in her throat, and all that escaped her lips were soft, anxious moans.

She sighed as he lifted one breast from its lacy cup to run a rough thumb across her already-aching, button-hard nipple.

“I want you,” he admitted, and the words sounded ripped from his throat. “I’ve wanted you from the first second I laid eyes on you.”

“No—”

“Shh, Maggie, it’s true, and I hate it.” He breathed across her bared breast, and she gasped, then, slowly, his eyes locked with hers, he took the nipple into his mouth and kissed it as if he’d never stop. Deep inside she started to throb. With his tongue, teeth, and lips, he tasted and teased, causing the world to spin and desire to thrum around her. The interwoven branches of the trees overhead became indistinct, the clouds farther up dark and sensual.

With deft, practiced fingers he removed her bra, his hands skimming her skin, his mouth following close behind. She smelled the scent of rain, felt the first drizzling raindrops as he buried his head in her naked abdomen, and she felt his breath on her navel.