were no words for that, for the miracle of her skin under his hands. There was nothing.
But the scent of her, the feel of her…
She swallowed. “Grant?”
He remembered to speak. “I’m not that wonderful. Take my word for it.”
“Oh, Grant…”
“And I want you to know…” The thing was, he could stand here holding her shoulders and looking in her shining eyes for the next decade or so. Just stand here and stare at that dimple in her chin, at her slightly parted lips, her clover-green eyes…
“What?” she asked.
He frowned and, like an idiot, he parroted, “What?”
“You want me to know, what?” Wildly she scanned his face.
And he had no idea what. Not a hint. Not a clue.
And something was happening. Something was changing.
Something about Steph. She was…suddenly different. All at once her nervousness, her girlish embarrassment, had vanished.
Now, he looked down at a woman, a beautiful woman, a woman sure of what she wanted.
“Oh, Grant…” They were the same words she’d said not a minute before.
The same.
And yet totally different.
She lifted her hands and rested them on his chest and before he could remember that he should stop her, she slid them up to encircle his neck.
He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be standing here way too close to her, shouldn’t be looking down at that mouth of hers, thinking how he’d like nothing better than to cover it with his own.
He shouldn’t…
“Oh, Grant. Oh, yeah.” And she lifted up on tiptoe and pressed that soft, wide mouth to his.
Chapter Three
More things he shouldn’t be doing…
He shouldn’t be wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, shouldn’t be easing his tongue between those softly parted lips of hers. Shouldn’t be sweeping his tongue over the eager surface of hers. Shouldn’t be finding the taste of her even sweeter than he’d dared to imagine.
Shouldn’t be.
But he was.
He ran an eager hand down the curve of her back and cupped her firm, sleek bottom, pulling her up and into him, nice and tight. So she could feel exactly how she affected him…
Wrong, he thought.
Shouldn’t…
But that didn’t stop him. He kissed those soft-sighing lips of hers and when she sighed again, he kissed her some more.
She didn’t seem to mind.
Far from it. She kissed him right back.
It was good. The best. Better than the best. He didn’t want it ever to end.
But he knew that it had to. Exerting a superhuman effort of will, he lifted his mouth from hers.
There was a moment. Breath held. They stared at each other. Her eyes were greener than ever, her lips slightly swollen from that kiss he shouldn’t have shared with her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and clasped her shoulders again to put her gently away from him. “I don’t know what the hell my problem is. I shouldn’t have done that.”
And she smiled, a smile that trembled a little at first, and then grew wider. A smile that became so bright, it blinded him. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You should have. And I’m real glad you did.”
For the first time ever, Marie’s famous pot roast had no taste.
Not to Grant, anyway. The last thing he could think about that evening was food.
In his mind, there was only Steph: her smile, her laughter, the memory of her kiss, the look in her eyes across the table whenever their glances happened to meet.
He had a really big problem here and he knew it. He kept almost forgetting who she was, kept losing sight of the fact that he was sworn to look out for her, that he could never, ever hurt her, that the last thing he would ever do was to take her to bed.
He was all wrong for her and he knew it. She was a find-the-right-guy-and-marry-him kind of girl. An innocent in her heart. Hell. He was reasonably sure she was still a virgin.
A virgin. Oh God.
Grant didn’t go out with virgins.
And wasn’t up for the whole marriage-and-family deal. Not now. Not ever.
And even if she didn’t expect him to marry her, a girl like Steph would at least want something approximating what women liked to call a relationship. Grant didn’t have relationships.
When it came to women, he liked things free and easy, fun and open-ended.
And sitting at the dinner table that evening, he felt trapped. Boxed in by his own burning lust for sweet little Stephanie Julen.
He needed to stay away from her. Oh, yeah. Since he couldn’t keep his hands off her once he got close, the solution was simple: He would keep his distance. Yeah. That should work. If he just stayed away…
He poked more food he didn’t taste into his mouth and resolutely chewed.
Marie asked, “Grant, are you feeling all right?”
He swallowed. Hard. “Uh, yeah. I’m just fine.”
“You’re looking a little strange. Is the pot roast okay?”
“The best. As always.”
Rufus let loose with one of those low, knowing chortles of his. Grant sent him a dark look.
The old cowboy shrugged. “Hell, Marie. This is the best you ever made. Nothin’ wrong with this here pot roast, nosirree. It’s tender and juicy. Perfect in every way. Just like the potatoes and the carrots and these rolls of yours that are fluffy as little pillows. Uh-uh. If the boss has got a problem, it’s not with the food.” He forked up a big bite and stuffed it into his mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man. I’ve got no problem at all.” Grant scowled at Rufus for all he was worth.
“Hear that?” Rufus grinned good and wide. “Boss says he ain’t got a problem.” He raised his beer. “I’ll drink to that.”
Grant looked away from the old man—and saw that Jim, the new hand, was staring at Steph. Grant resisted the urge
