True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,49
the two cloth napkins she gave him and a couple of plates to put the chili bowls on. Carrying everything into the dining room, he paused. Pretty lace tablecloth. Long-ass table.
Just to make her laugh, he set up a place at each end. Henri had taught all her boys the basics of setting a table, but everything at the ranch was stainless. Maybe the egg and tarnish thing explained why. Henri wouldn’t want to mess with tarnish.
When he walked back into the kitchen, Eva was pulling salad fixings out of the fridge. Taking that job would give him something to do with his hands, something other than caressing Eva’s silky skin. “Want me to make that?”
She looked over at him. “Would you like to?”
“Absolutely. Thanks to CJ, I’m an excellent slicer and dicer.” Damn. He could have gone all evening without bringing up CJ.
“He’s good in the kitchen?”
“Just with cutting up veggies and stuff like that.”
She held his gaze. “Does it bother you that I had a crush on him?”
“No, I—”
“Because I think it does. Just now you winced after mentioning his name.”
“Didn’t mean to. He’s a brother and a good friend. If it came down to it, I’d give my life for CJ.”
“And I’m sure he’d do the same for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t know if this will help, but CJ would have been all wrong for me. He’s clearly overjoyed to be marrying Isabel and settling into family life.”
“Yes, he is.” Far from helping, her comment brought up the problem he’d shoved out of sight. With time and luck, maybe it would gradually melt away.
“Besides, my crush on him was based on superficial things. He has blond hair and plays a guitar. I always went for the blond country stars as a teenager.”
“I thought you wanted to give me blond highlights so I’d look like CJ.”
“No, I just like the effect in general. But now that I know you better, I would never suggest you change the color of your hair.”
“Why?”
“It wouldn’t fit your personality. You’re authentic to the bone. Strong and true.”
He swallowed. “Thank you.” Those words sure helped.
“You don’t need highlights to make you look hot. You just are.”
He was flattered as hell. And ready to take this sweet-talking lady to bed. Clenching his hands at his sides, he took a shaky breath. “I told myself I wouldn’t touch you again until after we had a chance to eat. I’m struggling with that.”
“Me, too. But you said you were starving.”
“I was.”
“Not now?”
“No, ma’am.”
Breaking eye contact, she walked back to the stove and turned off the heat under the chili. Then she held out her hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He let her lead him up there, her grip firm. Anticipation played hell with his breathing as he mounted the steps. So many steps. Couldn’t possibly have been this many when he’d traipsed up and down them with boxes from the attic.
Eventually they reached the second floor. Her bedroom was only short distance from the landing and he followed her in, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. The first time he’d made love to her, he could only guess how it would be.
No guesswork now. Paradise waited. All he had to do was get out of his clothes and the magic would begin.
Her bedroom glowed in the golden light from the setting sun, brightening the colors of the patchwork quilt on the queen four-poster that took up most of the space. The oval mirror he’d set in the only available corner reflected sunset tinged clouds. A double-hung casement window was open, letting in a cooling breeze.
When she released his hand, he reached for the back of his shirt to pull it over his head.
“Please let me.” She grasped his forearms, halting his motion. “I want to undress you.”
“All right.” He lowered his arms to his sides, dragged in another breath and prayed he could hold it together while she did that. When she tugged the shirt from his waistband, her fingers brushed his sensitized skin and he shuddered.
“Cold?”
“No, ma’am. Excited.”
“So am I.” She pulled his shirt as high as she could reach. “Duck your head.”
He leaned over. She pulled off his shirt. And started folding the darn thing.
“Just drop it.”
“No.” She laid it on the top of an antique dresser. “I want it to stay right there until you leave. Might as well be folded.”
His breath caught. “Until I leave? But that might be—”
“Tomorrow morning? I hope so.”
“You want me shirtless the whole time? Even when we eat?”
“Yes, please.”