Kiss Me. Сьюзен Мэллери

       CHAPTER SIX

      PHOEBE STRETCHED OUT on her bed, aimlessly flipping channels on the television. Despite the fact there was a sci-fi marathon on one channel, Sleepless in Seattle on another and some really great fake diamond earrings on QVC, nothing held her interest. She told herself it was because she was in unfamiliar surroundings. Or maybe it was the fact that except for the cowboy who had delivered her dinner on a tray at six-thirty, she hadn’t seen another living being. Well, not a biped. From her window she could see countless cattle, a few horses and even a couple of dogs.

      But she knew none of that really mattered. The reason she was restless, edgy and more than a little unsettled had nothing to do with her lack of company and everything to do with a soul-stirring kiss she’d experienced that morning. Strange men were not supposed to be able to elicit that kind of a response from her. She’d always been a kiss on the second date, sex in the third or fourth month kind of gal. More than one potential boyfriend had become frustrated and ended things because she wasn’t ready to bare all by week four.

      The first time it had happened, she’d been heartbroken. The second time, she’d been resigned. In her world, making love needed to be a significant event. She was interested in emotional connection, not volume. Which put her out of step with a lot of guys she met in LA, but that was okay. She wasn’t going to find the sense of belonging she desperately wanted by jumping into bed every fifteen minutes. Which was all really interesting, but not the least bit helpful in explaining her reaction to Zane.

      If he’d tossed her to the ground and started ripping off her clothes, instead of being outraged, she would have helped. She would have done it right there, in front of God and the goats. The big question was why?

      A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She flipped off the TV, then sat up. She’d returned her dinner tray to the kitchen, so it was unlikely anyone was here to bus her dishes. Which left one of two possibilities for her visitor. Chase or Zane.

      In her mind, it wasn’t even a close vote. She crossed her fingers and walked to the door. When she pulled it open, she fully expected to see Chase standing in the hallway, because that was how her luck was running these days. Yet the man in front of her was tall, good-looking and had a mouth, she knew from personal experience, that could reduce grown women who should know better to puddles of liquid desire.

      She blinked and wondered when the finger-crossing technique had actually started working.

      “Evening,” Zane said.

      It was a pretty wordy opening for him.

      Phoebe debated inviting him in, then decided it would be too much like an offer to sleep with him. Instead of stepping back and pointing to the bed, which was really what she wanted to do, she moved into the hallway, shutting the door behind her, and did her best to look unimpressed.

      “Hi, Zane. How are the preparations coming?”

      He gave her one of his grunts, then shrugged. She took that to mean, “Great. And thanks so much for asking.”

      They weren’t standing all that close, but she was intensely aware of him. Despite the fact that he’d probably been up at dawn and that it was now close to ten, he still smelled good. He wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat, so she could see his dark hair. Stubble defined his jaw. She wanted to rub her hands over the roughness, then maybe hook her leg around his hip and slide against him like the sex-starved fool she was turning out to be.

      “Maya’ll be here tomorrow,” he said. “Elaine Mitchell is bringing her out to the ranch with all of the greenhorns in her tourist bus.”

      She had to clear her throat before speaking. “Maya called me about an hour ago to let me know she’d be getting here about three.”

      He folded his arms across his broad chest, then leaned sideways against the doorjamb beside her. So very close. Her attention fixed on the strong column of his neck, and a certain spot just behind his jaw that she had a sudden urge to kiss. Would it be warm? Would she feel his pulse against her lips?

      “She doesn’t need to know what happened,” Zane said.

      Phoebe couldn’t quite make sense of his words, and he must have read the confusion in her eyes. They were alone, it was night and the man seemed to be looming above her in the hallway. She’d never thought she would enjoy being loomed over, but it was actually very nice. She had the feeling that if she suddenly saw a mouse or something, she could shriek and jump, and he would catch her. Of course he would think she was an idiot, but that was beside the point.

      “Between us,” he explained. “Outside. She doesn’t need to know about the kiss.”

      A flood of warmth rushed to her face as she understood that he regretted kissing her. She instinctively stepped backward, only to bump her head against the closed bedroom door. Before she had time to be embarrassed about her lack of grace or sophistication, he groaned, reached for her hips and drew her toward him.

      “She doesn’t need to know about this one, either.”

      His lips took hers with a gentle but commanding confidence. Her hands settled on either side of the strong neck she’d been eyeing only seconds ago. His skin was as warm as she’d imagined it would be. The cords of his muscles moved against her fingers as he tilted his head to a better angle.

      His hands were still, except his thumbs, which brushed her hip bones, slow and steady. His fingers splayed over the narrowest part of her waist and nearly met at the small of her back. She wished she could feel his fingertips against her skin, but her thin cotton top got in the way.

      He kept her body at a frustrating distance from his. In fact, when she tried to move closer, he held her away even as he continued the kiss. Lips on lips. Hot and yielding. She waited for him to deepen the kiss, but he didn’t. And she couldn’t summon the courage to do it herself. Finally, he drew back and rested his forehead against hers for a long moment.

      “Do me a favor,” he said. “Try to be a little more resistible. I don’t think I can take a week of this.”

      Then he turned on his heel, walked to a door at the end of the long hallway, and went inside. She stood in place, her fingers pressed against her still-tingling lips. More than a minute passed before she realized she was smiling.

      * * *

      PHOEBE HOVERED SLIGHTLY behind Zane in front of the Nicholson Ranch house, watching a cheerfully painted bus chugging along the winding entrance road. As it got closer, the tinny music coming from the speaker mounted on top increased in volume. It sounded like an ice-cream truck. Chase stood by the goat pens, well out of his brother’s reach. She couldn’t blame him for being nervous. Zane’s annoyance with the fake cattle-drive situation seemed to be growing as the bus approached.

      She tried not to notice how good Zane looked in his cowboy hat and jeans, but she couldn’t seem to help cataloging his impressive features.

      Okay, day one his appeal had been interesting. Day two it had been amusing, but this was day three. She needed to get over him, already. Sexual attraction had never been a big part of her life. Sure, she enjoyed the physical perks of a romantic relationship as much as anyone, but she’d never sought them out. To her, the emotional connection was so much more important than the act. So why did she practically have a hot flash every time she was around Zane?

      She had a feeling that Maya would be able to offer sound advice. The only downside was having to admit the problem in the first place. Not only was Zane Maya’s ex-stepbrother, which