and was surprised to see he was flushing a little. The double entendre must have been unintentional.
“Sorry,” he said. “But you were right—testosterone runs high around here. Girl dressed like you might as well be running a gauntlet.”
“Dressed like me?” She was suddenly conscious of the way her old jeans clung to her flesh. Maybe it wasn’t that the cowboys were overloaded with testosterone. Maybe she just looked like a woman who was willing to help them work some off.
He glanced down at the jeans, then caught himself and returned his gaze to her face.
“Didn’t mean it that way. You just—you look good, that’s all. Really good.”
***
Lane could have kicked himself for being so clumsy. Sarah looked great in her jeans and T-shirt. There were plenty of buckle bunnies prancing around like prize ponies for sale, dressed in slutty midriff-baring tops and jeans so low you could see butt cleavage. Compared to them, Sarah was a thoroughbred.
But she wasn’t the tight-assed professional type his brother usually hired. She was funny, smart, and sassy. She’d joined in on the banter with Doc Myrna like she’d known her all her life.
He was attracted to her—and not just to her body, though that was damn near enough. Unlike most women, she could carry on a conversation and he actually enjoyed being with her.
Too bad it was all about Carrigan. She wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for business.
They’d strolled into the shadow of a shuttered concession stand, and the faint light glinted on her cheekbones and the delicate curve of her shoulders.
Damn, that filmy, silky shirt was pretty. He didn’t usually notice a woman’s clothes, but the pastel peachy color brought out the delicacy of her complexion, and the fabric skimmed over her skin so smoothly he could make out the lacy borders of her bra. He wondered what it would feel like if he took a slip of the cloth between his fingers. It was so finely woven it would probably catch on his rough hands, maybe even tear. He wasn’t the kind of man who could handle delicate things. Fine china broke in his hands, and delicate women didn’t last long either.
And for all her spunk, he sensed a fragility behind Sarah’s professional facade, a hidden store of secrets and insecurities. Not that she’d ever admit it. He could tell she was a regular warrior princess when it came to shielding her feelings.
“Princess.” He realized too late he’d said the word out loud. Worse yet, his hand had followed his thoughts, reaching out to touch the silky surface of her shirt.
“Don’t call me that.”
She might be objecting to the name, but she wasn’t pushing him away. He ran a cautious, gentle fingertip down the faint outline of her bra strap, tracing the delicate line of lace down to the place where her breast swelled in a sweet, sensuous curve.
“Sorry.” He toyed with the necklace that dangled between her breasts. At the office she’d been wearing a dignified diamond chip in an abstract setting. Now she was wearing a little silver horse charm on a chain. It looked like a kid’s necklace.
He lifted his finger to touch the point of her china doll chin. “Can’t help it. Can’t help—any of this.”
He tipped her face up to his. With her pale skin and wide eyes, she made him think of a fawn, sleek and soft and Bambi-eyed. Was this the same Sarah he’d met in the office? She seemed so hesitant now. So—womanly. A tangle of conflicting feelings welled up in his chest, a need to protect her combined with an urge to dominate her now that she’d showed a hint of submission.
He smoothed a lock of hair behind her ears. He hadn’t intended it to be a sexual touch, just a comforting one, like you’d use to calm a skittish horse. She tilted her head and for a moment he held her cheek in his palm. She closed her eyes and drew in a soft breath, her lips parting, and there was nothing he could do but kiss her.
Her lips were so delicate, so perfectly shaped. He’d just meant to touch them with his own, but he couldn’t resist flicking out his tongue to trace the smooth curves of her upper lip and that sweet little dip in the middle. When he felt its pillowy, velvet texture give way, an arrow of desire hit his heart as surely as if she’d aimed it. But she hadn’t aimed it. She wasn’t half-trying.