Totally Texan. Mary Baxter Lynn
let me,” she said, reaching out, only to stop abruptly when she saw the open grin on his face. She yanked her hand back, feeling blood rush into her cheeks.
“That’s okay. I think I’ll just change my jeans.”
“Uh, right,” Kelly said after finding her voice.
“How much do I owe you?”
Kelly was appalled that he’d even ask that. “Under the circumstances, absolutely nothing.”
He turned then and walked toward the exit. Kelly could only stand spellbound in shock.
When he reached the door he turned and winked. “See ya.”
She hoped not. But at the same time, she was sorry, because he did have the cutest ass and swagger she’d ever seen—even when he’d just braved hot coffee from her hands.
Too bad they were wasted on her.
Two
He hated paperwork, but that didn’t mean he could ignore it.
Grant’s gaze cut over to the desk in the corner of the room, and he groaned. Not only were there stacks of invoices that had to be paid, there were folders that needed to be filed.
He’d gone outdoors for a while. Swinging an ax had given him some much-needed physical relief. After spending most of the morning behind closed doors with his banker, reviewing his finances, he’d needed the outlet. Bank sessions nearly always made a nutcase out of him.
A lot of things this morning had made him half-crazy. Following his shower a short time ago, he’d checked his crown jewels for the first time, since their coffee bath that morning, and deduced they were intact and good to go.
Grant snorted. Only problem with the latter, they had no place to go. Better yet, no one to go to. He could barely recall the last time he’d shared a bed with a woman and really enjoyed it. Through the years, few women had had the power to either disturb his libido or hold his interest.
However, he had to admit with brutal honesty that Ruth Perry’s replacement, whoever she was, had definitely done both.
Kelly Baker was one fine woman. He couldn’t help but notice her fragile porcelain skin with its delicate dusting of freckles. She had wonderful bones, with curves that were just right, and her clothes draped her slender frame to perfection.
Too bad she didn’t seem to have a brain to match all those physical assets. A twinge of conscience bit him, telling him that probably wasn’t a fair assessment of the woman. They’d spoken for barely two minutes, and he didn’t know anything about her but her name. No doubt, though, she was out of her element and didn’t have a clue what she was doing in the food business. Under other conditions and circumstances, he might have enjoyed spending time with her.
“Ah, hell, Wilcox,” he muttered, reaching for his beer and taking another swig, “give it a rest.”
She wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of him. It hadn’t taken him but a few seconds to get her number—a city broad with a city attitude. As far as he was concerned, both those things sucked. No way would the two of them ever get together.
Again, that was too bad; she was a looker. He liked women with spunk, and she appeared to have more than her share of that. He’d relish the opportunity to play with a woman like her. For a few days anyway, he mused ruefully. It was okay to dream, just as long as he didn’t do something foolish and try to turn those dreams into reality.
He almost laughed aloud at that crazy thought.
No way was he going to mess with that woman. Already there was something about her that was a real turn-on to him. Perhaps it was because she appeared so untouchable, so condescending, that he wanted to explore what lay under that sheet of ice, then prove he was man enough to melt it. First by grabbing her and pressing her against the wall of his chest… He could almost taste her flesh as he imagined himself caressing, nibbling, kissing her mouth, her neck, her shoulders and her back.
What would she feel? Would he make her tingle, make her hot?
Now that was a hoot, thinking she’d ever let him within touching distance. Disgusted with his thoughts of the ice queen, Grant got up, trudged to the kitchen and helped himself to another beer.
It was after he’d killed the contents that the idea struck him. He stood still, feeling heat boil up in him. “Ah, hell, Wilcox. Forget it. That’s crazy. You’re crazy!”
Crazy or not, he was going to do it. Grabbing a jacket, he headed out the door, knowing that he’d probably lost what mind he had left.
Her face still flamed.
And not from the tub of hot water she’d been soaking in for at least thirty minutes. How could she have done such a thing? How could she have been so clumsy? She never had been at such a loss before. Cool, calm and collected was how she was thought of at the firm, how she generally operated on a day to day basis.
Or at least how she used to, before…
Kelly shook her head, refusing to go there. She had already beaten up on herself enough. To dwell on the now was not only detrimental to her psyche, but stupid. What happened four years ago couldn’t be changed. Nothing would ever bring her family back.
What happened this morning, however, was another matter altogether.
“Merciful heaven,” Kelly muttered, reaching for the loofah and sudsing her body so hard she left it tingling. Then, deciding she couldn’t change the morning’s embarrassment no matter how much she might want to, she got out of the tub and dried off.
Later, wrapped in a warm robe, she sat on the sofa close to the fireplace. Even though it was relatively early, she should try to get some sleep, but she knew any attempt to do so would be futile. Her mind was still too revved up. Besides, at home she hardly ever went to bed before midnight, usually kept company by a ton of work she brought home from the office.
Thinking about work, Kelly felt her heart falter.
She missed her office, her clients, her condo. She missed them with a passion. In the Houston Galleria area she heard the sounds of traffic, not owls. She shivered and wrapped her robe tighter around her. Something hot to drink always seemed to soothe her. Not this evening, however. Although she had made a cup of her favorite flavored coffee and took several sips of it, she still felt unsettled.
She lay back and closed her eyes, only to find the image of Grant Wilcox unexpectedly imprinted on the back of her lids. Instead of freaking out, she let her mind have free reign—first, picturing him again in his flannel shirt and tight, faded jeans, covering a body most men would die for, then wondering what made him tick.
Why did she care?
So he was better than average looking in his rough, sexy way—she’d already conceded that. His features were carved with decisive strokes, and he had a killer smile and dimples to go along with that amazing body.
He had that muscled, yet loose-limbed agility that most big men didn’t possess. She could picture him working outdoors shirtless, mending a fence, felling timber, or doing whatever he did.
Suddenly, her mind jumped ship and she imagined him without his jeans. No underwear, either.
The image didn’t stop there. Next came the vision of the two of them together, naked…
Stop it! She told herself. What had gotten into her?
She was so traumatized by her thoughts, she couldn’t even open her eyes. So what? No one knew what was going on inside her head. Those erotic, mental meanderings were hers and hers alone and would bring harm to no one.
Wrong.
This was a dangerous mind game she was playing—examining her life, including her loneliness and her need to be accepted and loved. Still, the images wouldn’t let go—of mouths, tongues, entwined, of kisses that sucked out the