True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,44
then. No shaving lotion. Any other instructions?”
“Don’t take too long.”
“Believe me, I won’t.” He started toward the porch steps and turned back to her. “By the way, I haven’t given you the full twelve hours of labor. Technically I still owe you about six.”
“That’s okay.”
“Not in my book.”
“Well, there’s the waterfall project.”
He nodded. “That might do it.”
“And the mirror’s still up in the attic.”
“No, it’s not.”
She stared at him. “Where is it?”
“In your bedroom. I finished taping it and carried it down while you were out on the porch with Fiona.”
“I thought you needed someone to help you move it safely.”
“I thought I did, too, but then I realized that if I could haul you down those stairs without incident when my jeans were pinching me something fierce, I could certainly handle that mirror. It didn’t wiggle and it certainly didn’t smell as enticing as you.”
“I doubt I smelled enticing after what went on in the attic.”
“Then you don’t know guys any better than I know women. When I brought your clothes to your door, I would have happily stuffed your panties in my pocket. That sweet aroma was working for me. I was supposed to entertain Fiona, or I might have.”
“Then maybe I should just take a quick bath and let it go at that.”
“Maybe you should.” He hesitated. “Ah, to hell with it.” His shovel and pick hit the ground with a clatter and he closed the distance between them. “I’m just kissing you. Nothing more.” Cupping her face in his work-roughened hands, he took command of her mouth.
As he plunged his tongue deep, a red haze of lust blotted out everything but a burning need to touch his incredible body. She fisted her hands in his shirt and two fingers went right through. She tugged hard.
The harsh rasp of cotton tearing brought her to her senses. Dear God, what was she doing? Gulping, she wriggled away from him. “I… I didn’t mean to—”
“Rip my clothes off?” Breathing hard, he looked down at the gaping hole and flashed her a grin. “Not that I mind.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
“Don’t even think about it. I rubbed a hole in the material while I was carrying rocks. The shirt was done for, anyway.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Did it?”
“No! I deliberately destroyed your shirt. I wanted to rip it. There’s no excuse for that.”
“Sure there is.” He held her gaze. “It shows how much you want me. I’d sacrifice a hundred shirts to find that out. See you soon, Eva.” Picking up his tools, he left, his stride more purposeful this time.
She stared after him, her lips tingling from his kiss, her body throbbing with anticipation. This affair, if she was ready to call it that, was only hours old. Yet she craved Nick more than any guy she’d dated, craved him enough to destroy his clothes.
That wasn’t like her. Or it hadn’t been until now. Where was this headed? No telling, but she couldn’t wait to find out what happened next.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Heard your truck pull up,” Rafe called from the kitchen when Nick came through the front door of the bunkhouse. “Did Eva kick you out already?”
“Nope. Going back over in a bit.” He sat on his bunk and pulled off his boots.
“Are you, now?” Rafe appeared in the kitchen doorway, a bottle of hard cider in one hand. He grinned. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. What are you doing back so soon? I thought you and Kate were supposed to be gone all day.”
“We had a fight.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He stood, pulled off his shirt and tossed it on his bunk. He could wash it and throw it in the bunkhouse rag bag or keep it as a souvenir. Might keep it.
“Let me guess. Eva ripped your shirt in a fit of passion.”
Nick smiled and looked him in the eye. “As a matter of fact, she did.”
Rafe blinked. “No shit.” His expression was priceless. Total shock and disbelief.
“She’s wild about my sweat.”
Rafe busted out laughing. “Sure she is. Gotta hand it to you, Nicholas. You had me going. For a minute, there, I thought you—”
“I’m not making this up. My body odor turns her on.”
Rafe laughed harder. “You’re killing me, bro. No woman alive is turned on by—”
“That’s what I used to think. Evidently it’s a selective thing. Fiona came by the house and she had zero reaction to my smelly self.”
“But Eva likes