Mr. Miracle. Carolyn McSparren
chase.
“No fair!” She skittered around the corner and into her bedroom.
He slid after her.
They both fell on the bed howling with laughter.
He grabbed the fists she had clenched over her head and rolled her over. “Never steal from a Gypsy, darling. We’ll cast the evil eye on you.”
She sucked in a breath.
So did he.
She could feel the weight of his body on hers. He was suddenly dead serious, those black eyes boring into hers. She couldn’t look away, didn’t want to, wanted to drown in his eyes, feel the strength of his hands holding her wrists.
His kiss was hard, demanding, forcing her lips against her teeth. Without her will, her lips parted for his questing tongue, which she met with her own. Her body writhed beneath him as though it had developed a mind separate from her brain. He was hard against her belly, his thighs against hers, his chest against her breasts. She couldn’t breathe.
Her loins ached.
The strength went out of her.
An instant later he rolled off her, stood and turned away. “I’m sorry. That was unforgivable.”
She raised herself on her elbows. Her breath shuddered in her throat. “You didn’t do it alone.”
He didn’t turn to look at her. “And I’ve wanted to do it since the moment I saw you. I just didn’t realize how much until this minute. Forgive me.”
“For what? Things got a little out of hand. Big deal. Call it the wine.”
“I’ll sleep in the barn.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Sleep upstairs.” She went to him, stood behind him without touching him and said softly, “You’re a gentleman, Jamey McLachlan. And my guest. You’re not the sort of man to betray a hostess.”
He turned to look at her with anguish in his eyes. “Don’t count on that, lass.” He strode to the front door and took his jacket from the coat rack. “I’ll walk down to the barn and check on things. Be back in a few minutes.”
THE NIGHT HAD TURNED bitter with a three-quarter moon riding in a sky so full of stars it seemed to pulse. His hands in his pockets for warmth, Jamey loped down the hill to the stable. How could he have been so stupid?
How could she?
It was her fault. She was too damned trusting, too damned sexy, too damned appealing, and she didn’t even have sense enough to know it!
They were both too hungry, that was the problem. His wife had been dead more than two years. Not that she’d been particularly interested in lovemaking—well, not with him, at any rate. But then, he’d never been able to turn her on the way little brother Robert apparently had.
And according to Hamish, Vic’s husband had been a loudmouth brute.
Jamey should be shouting for joy. Her vulnerability would make his job a hell of a lot easier. If he took her to bed and did it right, he’d have her climbing on a horse again merely to please him so that he would continue to please her. He’d have her lending him a trailer and truck and practically begging him to steal the stallion.
He leaned against a tree. He couldn’t do it. Not that he didn’t want Vic. He did. He wanted her as he had not wanted another woman in years. But he simply could not allow himself to make love to her—assuming she’d let him—and betray her afterward. She deserved better. She deserved a man who valued her. A man who saw what she needed and met those needs. A man who would cosset and protect and adore her. Someone who would give her the respect her first husband had not.
Not a man who intended to force her to conquer her greatest fears, then rob her blind.
He walked into the darkened stable and listened for a moment to the stampings and snufflings of the sleeping horses. He leaned over Roman’s stall door and began to whistle a tune under his breath. The stallion sauntered over to have his forehead scratched. “What am I going to do about you, old son?” he asked.
The stallion wickered softly.
“I owe Jock McLachlan his dream. He left it to me when he left me the yard. And I want it for him—want you for him, if you’re all I think you can be.
But does it have to be at the expense of my honor and Vic’s trust?
CHAPTER SIX
“HEY, COOL MOTORCYCLE!” Albert’s nephew Kenny said as he walked into Vic’s office the following morning. “Who’s it belong to?”
Vic jumped guiltily. Above her head she could hear the scrape of furniture being dragged across the floor. Jamey was safely out of Kenny’s way. What Kenny didn’t see, he didn’t report to Albert, and what Albert didn’t know, he wouldn’t worry about.
In many ways, having a protector the size and shape of Albert was a godsend, but there were times when she wished he had a bit less Doberman in him and a bit more spaniel.
“Hey, Kenny,” Vic said. “The motorcycle belongs to one of the clients. He’s leaving it here while he’s out of town.” She didn’t normally tell bald-faced lies, but this was an emergency. Albert did not need to climb out of a sickbed to check her out. “How’s Albert? Is somebody looking after him and Linette?”
“They’re fine. Well, not fine. Albert’s fussing when he’s not asleep, which is mostly. Linette is getting over it, but she still feels pretty achy. Albert sent me over this morning on my way to school to see if you needed me this afternoon to muck out stalls and stuff.”
“You’ve got your hands full with college, young man. And I’m managing fine.”
“Has that disloyal Benito come back from Juarez yet?”
Vic laughed. “He’s not disloyal. He was just homesick. How would you like to be a thousand miles from your family at Christmas? He’ll probably show up again in March when his money runs out and the weather’s warmer. You have to admit, he works hard when he’s here.”
“Yeah. Well, Albert says y’all have got to have somebody you can count on. This place is too big to run with just y’all.”
“I’m looking, Kenny, but in the meantime having you to help out on the weekends is plenty. I promise you, I am not suffering. Tell Albert to relax and enjoy being poorly, and tell Linette not to brain him if he starts complaining. I’ll call later this afternoon.”
Overhead something crashed. “What’s that?” Kenny asked, looking in the direction of the noise. “You got possums or something up there?”
Vic stood and quickly moved him out into the hall. “Just one of the clients hunting for something. Don’t worry.” She practically shoved him toward the front door. “Go to school before you’re late. And thanks for stopping by.”
He moved, still glancing over his head. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, yes, yes. I promise. Now scat.”
She waved as Kenny’s ancient Toyota wound its way down the driveway. Close one. She knew she was borrowing only a small amount of time with Jamey McLachlan until somebody snitched to Albert or, even worse, to Liz or Mike in Florida. She hoped it wouldn’t dawn on Kenny that the only vehicle outside the stable had been her old truck. Any client upstairs would have had to materialize out of thin air.
Vic had sworn Angie to secrecy over lunch, and Angie was usually trustworthy. But people kept doing stuff for Vic’s own good. As though she were some ditzy idiot who needed protecting from her own bad decisions.
Well, hiring Jamey McLachlan had so far proved to be the best decision for ValleyCrest she’d made since she convinced Mike Whitten to set up an after-school riding program for his daughter and