Luke's Proposal. Lois Dyer Faye
into the bright sunlight. Her stride faltered and she reached out blindly, steadying herself with a hand on the truck’s hood.
Like Chase, Luke’s sheer size was intimidating, but unlike his brother, he was dangerous to Rachel in so many other ways. Just looking at him made her heart beat faster and heat move through her veins. Her skin seemed more sensitive to the touch of the hot sun and the brush of the faint breeze that lifted the ends of her hair and stroked her body.
There was no question he was the sexiest man she’d ever met. Nevertheless, Rachel was determined to ignore her physical reaction and focus on business.
I need him as a business partner, that’s all, she reminded herself. There won’t be anything else between us, regardless of how much my stupid hormones shriek.
Sunlight highlighted the supple flex of tanned biceps below the short sleeves of his white T-shirt. Faded Levi’s rode low on his hips. Torn at the knee, the snug denim faithfully followed the length of powerful, muscled thighs and long legs to end just above the heels of scuffed black cowboy boots.
A straw cowboy hat was tilted over his brow, shading his face. But nothing could conceal the narrow-eyed assessment that rivaled his brother’s in intensity.
His ice blue stare snapped her back to reality, and she realized that she was standing still, gazing at him like a star-struck teenager. Annoyed, she tucked her hands into her jeans pockets and stepped forward.
“Hello, Luke.”
“‘Mornin’.” He nodded his head in greeting, his gaze lowering in a swift scan from her hair to her boots and back again.
A lick of fire followed where his gaze touched. Rachel willed herself not to react when his eyes met hers and she read the heat there. She resisted the urge to smooth a hand over the pale yellow T-shirt tucked into the belted waistband of her worn Levi’s. Repeated washings had faded and shrunk the denim until the jeans were soft and snug, and Rachel suddenly wished she’d given more thought to getting dressed this morning. Maybe she should buy new jeans that were not quite so close fitting.
On the other hand, she thought, perhaps she should ignore him. It was downright irritating that she caught herself wondering fleetingly if he liked what he saw.
“Ransom’s in the trailer.” She turned and walked toward the tailgate. As she passed the back of the truck, Luke fell in beside her, his long easy strides carrying him past her. Inside the trailer, the stallion was enclosed in the front section of the four-horse carrier, but he wasn’t tied and he moved restlessly from one side to the other, clearly stressed. By the time Rachel joined Luke, he’d unlocked and opened the tailgate.
Ransom looked over his shoulder and across the divider at them, his nostrils flaring, eyes widening until a ring of white rimmed the brown. He spun in the narrow space, setting the trailer rattling and swaying, aggression in every flex and bunch of muscles in his powerful body.
“Easy,” Luke crooned. “Easy, boy.” He eyed the nervous dance of unshod hooves against wood flooring and the small white scars scattered over Ransom’s glossy black hide before turning to look at Rachel. “Did he get those scars from the barb wire?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened, his expression grim as he studied Ransom once more. “He isn’t haltered. How much trouble did he give you when you loaded him this morning?”
Rachel thought about lying but decided not to— Luke would find out soon enough just how much Ransom hated to board the trailer. “Some,” she admitted, deciding to be as noncommittal as possible.
“Hmm.” He considered her for a moment, then closed and latched the gate.
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