he would not accept.
“Yes or no?” he dared in return.
And she did it.
She leaned forward. He gave her the cake, watching those soft lips open to take it in.
Her eyes closed. “Umm.” Her mouth moved as she tasted it, savored the heady mix of rich flavors. She swallowed.
“More?”
“No, thank you.”
He held her eyes for a moment, that silken web of awareness spinning, dizzily now, all around them. And then he lowered the fork and took a bite for himself.
Enjoy it, Garrison, he told himself. Imagine you can taste her, in the cream and the chocolate, on the silver prongs of this fork. It’s all you’re going to have of her. Because she’s not going to beg for more. And you’re not going to push her.
You want only a single night.
And she…
She’s looking for a prince.
Too soon, the cake was nothing but a few crumbs on a china plate. He signaled for the check and signed for it. The waiter brought her coat, started to hold it up for her.
Jealous of every last touch, Ross rose from his chair. “Here.” The waiter handed it over.
Lynn stood and he helped her into it, as he had once before, in that shop with all the women watching, taking longer this time than he needed to, because the scent of her, the reality of her, was right there—too close, and much too tempting. His knuckles brushed cashmere and burned.
Silently he called himself a number of crude names.
He was hard. Had been since the moment she took his fork into her mouth. Fully aroused, like some green kid who couldn’t keep it down even in public. At least his jacket covered the bulge.
Once she had the coat on, he put his hand at the small of her back, under the pretense of guiding her toward the door. But she didn’t really need guiding. She knew damn well where the door was. He put his hand on her so that he could feel her, the softness, the womanflesh of her, under all the layers of clothing that protected her from him.
The hostess murmured, “Have a nice evening, Mr. Garrison,” as they passed the reservation podium.
He nodded. “Good night.”
They were out the door, standing on the street in the darkness with the icy Montana wind blowing down from the mountains, before he remembered that he’d yet to bring up the matter of Jennifer McCallum.
Chapter Four
She turned to him, clutching her coat against the chilling fingers of the wind. “I wonder if you could drive me back to the school. I left my Blazer there.”
“Wait a minute.” He sounded every bit as offhand as he’d intended to. Not at all the way he felt, which was way too aroused. Too hungry—and not for filet mignon or truffle cake. For her.
He wanted to reach for her, right there. To yank her body against his, shove his hands into her moon-silvered hair—and finally taste that mouth that had teased him so thoroughly with throaty laughter and clever words. That mouth, which had taken cake straight from his own fork.
“Brr…” She hunched her shoulders down into her collar. “Wait for what?”
“We still haven’t talked about my client.”
She started to speak, then saw the two cowboys ambling toward them on the street. The men were dressed in regulation Whitehorn: worn jeans, battered boots, sweat-stained hats and shearling jackets. Lynn smiled at them, murmured two names in greeting.
The men stopped in their tracks. They stared at Lynn, mouths slightly agape. Ross would have laughed—if he hadn’t wanted to kill both of them with his bare hands. He knew what they were thinking. He’d thought it himself. She looked good. Too damn good. Like something a man could start in with and never get enough of.
One of the cowboys gulped. “Uh, Miss Taylor?”
She laughed that throaty, maddening laugh. “Yes, Eddie, it’s me.”
“Well. Uh. Hi, there.”
They both tipped their hats.
“Hello yourself,” she said. She asked the other one, whose name was Tom, how his sister was doing.
“Lindy’s feelin’ better now, Miss Taylor.”
“Well, I’m pleased to hear that. You tell her to take it easy. Pneumonia’s nothing to fool with.”
“I will, Miss Taylor. I surely will. And you have yourself a nice day…I mean, night.”
“Thank you, Tom. Same to you.”
They both tipped their hats again, this time in Ross’s general direction. He gave them a curt nod. And then—finally—they went on by.
She turned to him. “It always makes me smile. This is only my second year as a teacher at Whitehorn Elementary, but still, everyone in town, even the people I went to high school with, call me Miss Taylor.”
It didn’t seem all that damn funny to him. Those cowboys had better call her Miss Taylor, as far as Ross was concerned.
She was still smiling. “Tom and Eddie work the Birchley place. That’s north of town, between the No Bull Ranch and the—”
“I know where the Birchley spread is.” He didn’t, not really. And he also didn’t need to hear another word about Tom and Eddie, who should learn not to stare at a woman as if they damn well had never seen one before.
She moved a step away from him. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He fisted his hands at his sides—to keep them from reaching out and pulling her back. “Not a thing.” He dragged in a slow breath and ordered the bulge in his pants to subside.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. And we really do still have to talk.”
“Well, I know, but—”
“We could stop by my house….” Once the suggestion was out, he could hardly believe he’d made it.
And apparently, neither could she. “Your house?” Her enchanting face showed both dismay—and excitement.
“It’s not that far. You can have one last cup of coffee. Then I’ll take you home.”
“I…” She hesitated. He knew with heart-stopping certainty that she would tell him no. But then relief hollowed him out as she finished, “I’ll still need to get my Blazer.”
“Fine, then. I’ll take you back to the school as soon as we’re finished.” He glanced at his watch. Still early. Good. “It’s only a little after seven.
