didn’t ask for it, either.”
Flint turned to face her, his smile meaningful. “Come on now, darlin’. We’re both too old to play games. Why else would you force yourself into my arms?”
Outraged, Jenna saw red. “I turned to ask you to keep your men away from the corral tomorrow while I work with Satin. Nothing more.” She jerked the screen door open. “Let’s get something else straight while we’re at it. You grabbed me. And if you weren’t so full of yourself, you’d admit it, McCray.”
The sting of Jenna’s words hit like a physical blow as Flint silently watched the door bang shut behind her. He had reached for her, but only to steady her, to keep her from falling. What he couldn’t figure out was why he’d allowed it to go beyond that. Maybe it had been the way she’d looked up at him with those big gray eyes—eyes that promised not only ecstasy and fulfillment, but mirrored a loneliness as deep as his own.
He cursed a blue streak. Whatever the reason, when he felt her soft, pliable body beneath his hands he’d displayed all the finesse of a steam roller.
Flint stepped off the porch and headed for the east pasture to check on the herd. He had to forget the feel of Jenna pressed against him, the taste of her lips clinging to his.
He shook his head. Why he’d allowed her to get under his skin remained a mystery. But one thing was certain. No matter what her eyes promised or how tempting the moment became, he wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d learned long ago that beyond the green of his money, he was nothing more than a dust covered cowboy with very little to offer a woman. It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way. And he kept the diamond necklace he’d bought for his ex-wife in a glass dome in his office to make sure it was one he wouldn’t forget.
He’d just been too long without a woman’s softness, that’s all, he reasoned. Every man needed physical release from time to time. And he was overdue. Way overdue.
Jenna lay awake long after she left Flint. She’d had time to reflect on the incident, and her anger had cooled toward him, but not with herself. He might have initiated the encounter, but she could have called a halt to it at any time.
So why hadn’t she?
She stared at the ceiling, listening to Flint climb the stairs and go into his room. What was there about the man that made her so spineless? Had he been as effected by their kiss as she’d been?
She’d been kissed many times before and never felt the way she had tonight. But the moment he’d taken her into his arms, her common sense had flown away like a big, green bird.
Not even Dan’s kisses had brought her to such a fevered state. And she’d loved him.
A mix of guilt and sadness suffused her when she thought of the young man she’d promised to marry. By now they should have been getting ready to celebrate their sixth anniversary. But life had taught her that plans change and guarantees for happiness weren’t handed out for the asking. Dan had died that day on the dirt floor of the rodeo arena, and she’d had to learn to get on with her life.
Jenna impatiently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, turned to her side and forced herself to relax. She’d wasted enough time feeling sorry for herself. She had a new horse to work with tomorrow, and she needed rest to meet the challenge. Besides, trying to figure out her reaction to Flint McCray was like trying to solve a crossword puzzle with no clues.
Drifting toward the peacefulness of sleep, the sound of shots being fired brought her to instant awareness. Rolling to the side of the bed, she landed on the polished hardwood floor with a jarring thump. Her hand hit the nightstand, and something sharp pierced her palm, but after a startled cry, she ignored the pain and began inching her way toward the door.
Maybe she should reexamine her position on insisting Flint honor their contract, she thought, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. If she was going to have to dodge rifle slugs, she’d be more than glad to go.
When the door crashed open, Jenna barely had time to cover her head with her hands before a large body landed on top of her.
Three
“What in God’s name are you doing on the floor?” Flint roared.
He levered himself to a sitting position. The light of the moon, shining through the part in the curtains, illuminated Jenna’s still form and the thin line of blood trickling down the side of her face. His heart stalled right then and there. He couldn’t tell the extent of her injuries, but clasping her shoulders, he hauled her up into his arms.
“I’m…warning you…McCray—” she took a deep breath “—if this keeps up, I’m going to demand hazardous-duty pay in addition to my regular fee.”
“Did you see or hear someone?” he asked, cradling her to his bare chest.
“No.”
Her warm breath against his skin sent a shiver snaking down his spine and a fire burning at his gut. Damned if she didn’t feel made to fit his arms. He cleared his throat to get words past the cotton clogging his throat. “Then why did you scream?”
“I have a tendency to do that when people shoot at me.”
“Shoot at you? You mean, you thought…” Relieved, he couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud. “That was Whiskers’s truck backfiring.” Remembering the blood, he sobered instantly and tightened his embrace. “Where are you hurt?”
“My hand. I hit it on something when I rolled out of bed.”
Flint had a hard time concentrating on what she said. Her small, scantily clad body felt wonderful, and the intensity of his reaction stunned him. He was overwhelmingly, completely, undeniably aroused. And it had almost been instantaneous.
He shook his head and tried to ignore his mounting desire. He had to have just set some kind of record. A man of thirty-three wasn’t over-the-hill by any means, but he for damn sure wasn’t a randy teenager with nothing but seething hormones racing through his veins. Over the years he should have gained at least a modicum of restraint.
Distracted by his changing body, it took him a minute to realize Jenna was pushing against him. He got to his feet and pulled her up with him. “Let’s see about your hand.”
Pulling her out into the hall, he turned on the overhead light and gulped back a groan when his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Here he stood, harder than the Rock of Gibraltar, gazing down at the half-naked woman responsible for his almost painful state. Now how was a man supposed to ignore a situation like that? It would take a saint or a blind man to overlook the possibilities. And Flint was neither.
He cursed under his breath and tried to ignore the outline of her nipples pushing at the thin fabric of her T-shirt. He normally considered T-shirts shapeless and unappealing. But this one draped her to perfection and made him want to run his hands under the hem, to expose every inch of her to his hungry eyes.
That wouldn’t take much, he decided. The damned thing barely covered her panties and exposed enough delectable skin to send his blood pressure up fifty points.
Sounding like the pop-off valve on a pressure cooker, he expelled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The phrase, Calf Ropers Like It Tied Up, printed across the front of the garment
