Sports Illustrated and lusted, but that was in the generic way that all men universally lusted over all the women in that issue. Wow. Sexy models…I wonder what’s in the fridge.
But this…
Seeing her in person was a whole ‘nother kettle of fish, and he wasn’t quite used to it yet. Especially since she’d far exceeded his expectations and was beautiful in addition to intelligent, funny and intriguing.
Having scrambled back onto the road after darting out of the way, she now bent to pick up the bike. Which was the perfect way for him to appreciate the way her shorts highlighted both her round plum of an ass and her long, smooth and shapely brown legs. This was no tiny little five-footer who you’d be afraid of bending and breaking in bed if things got a little too enthusiastic. Oh, no. This was an Amazon who’d wrap those strong thighs around him—a man, he meant, not him—and give as good as she got before demanding more and then more again.
In a fateful move that made this one of the luckiest days of his life, she’d worn a stretchy little tank top–type thing in white. White! Which, out here in the late afternoon sunlight, was really something to see. Maybe that top looked fine in a dressing room, but she’d apparently been riding that bike hard—lucky bike—and she was nice and sweaty. Wet and sweaty. And, as every man in the world knew, white top plus sweaty woman equals a spectacular view of breasts.
No doubt she’d die if she knew it, but he could see…Jesus, he could see everything. Rounded breasts just saggy enough for him to see that they were hers and not some pair purchased via installment plan from a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. Dark areolae, pointy nipples, the thrilling valley between. Then all that bounty gave way to a narrow waist and curved hips. Anyone who thought all supermodels were bony anorexics with no hips, butt or breasts had never laid eyes on this fantastic creature; no wonder she got millions just for showing up and smiling.
She was one tall drink of water, and he wanted to lower his head and drink.
The face was even better, if that was possible. All the makeup was gone now, not that she’d been wearing much to begin with, replaced with the damp glow of a healthy woman who’d gotten some good exercise. Her hair was up, damp around the edges with curling strands skimming her neck. Those hazel eyes glittered with fire, and her pouty lips were ripe for kissing.
She looked, in short, as though she’d spent a thoroughly satisfying afternoon in bed, and this view of her was definitely not the sort of thing he needed burned into his brain if he wanted to ignore and then forget her.
“You.” She kicked the stand down on the mountain bike, hung the helmet from the handlebars, planted her feet wide and jammed her hands on her hips. “I should have known. You’re a menace on the road, you know that?”
His blood, he was beginning to discover, flowed a little faster when she was around, and his skin felt a little warmer. It wasn’t his imagination and it wasn’t just his generalized appreciation of a beautiful woman. There was something about this woman that made his heart pound, something intriguing in those bright eyes that he longed to explore.
“I like to drive on the road,” he told her. “That’s what it’s for. Not loitering and admiring the scenery.”
“I wasn’t admiring the scenery, genius. I have a flat tire.”
Yeah, he’d seen that already. He stooped to examine the tire in question, mostly because it brought him much closer to her. Close enough to admire the smoothness of her skin, the attitude in her expression and to smell the clean, earthy musk of her.
Mistake. Big mistake.
And yet, when he stood again, he edged even closer, within kissing distance, if that sort of thing had been on his mind. Only the bike separated them, and God knew they were both tall enough to lean over the bike.
“You and your flat tire should be on the shoulder so you don’t get hit.”
“That’s where we were headed when you and your monster truck almost plowed us down.” Here she paused to give him a pointed and disdainful once-over. “What have you been doing, anyway?”
“Working in the fields,” he told her, unabashed. No doubt she’d never in her life raised her pretty little manicured hands for anything other than to signal for another glass of champagne. “That’s what we do here at the winery.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Shower much?”
Oh, she was funny. Stripping off his shades so she could see what he was doing, he gave her the kind of look-see she’d just given him, only his was quite a bit more lingering and appreciative. Her cheeks colored accordingly, but she didn’t drop that haughty chin by so much as an inch.
“Yeah,” he said. “You?”
Giving him a killing glare, she reached for her little pack on the ground and unzipped it. “Thanks for making sure I wasn’t killed when I dove out of the way of your speeding death machine. Kindly leave me in peace while I patch this defective Chambers Winery bike tire.”
What? Patch? Her?
To his astonishment, she withdrew a repair kit and actually looked like she knew what to do with it, which really screwed with his preconceived notions of her as a partying airhead with nothing inside her skull but marshmallow fluff. But, of course, it’d only taken one look into this woman’s keen hazel eyes for him to know that there was way more to her than what he could see on the outside.
He’d have to stop misjudging her and give her a chance.
Maybe.
If only he didn’t have such fierce reactions to everything about her.
“There’s nothing defective at the Chambers Winery, including the bikes. You must have ridden over a nail or something,” he informed her gruffly. “And I’ll do that for you.”
“No, thanks.”
“It’s the least I can—”
“No, thanks. I can do it.”
Yeah, he could see that. The sight of her, tired, dusty, sweaty and proud as she stooped beside the tire, was really doing a number on him. It was a terrible time to discover that he was a caveman at heart, but she shouldn’t have to fix that tire, and he was incapable of standing by with his thumb up his ass watching while she did it.
He could do it for her. He wanted to do it for her. An irritating voice inside his head was egging him on, pushing him to prove to her that, even though he wasn’t a Hollywood millionaire with flashy cars and a plane, he was strong and capable, and if she needed help while she was here on his land, then he was the one she could rely on.
Crazy, huh?
Insanity. But he still squatted on the other side of that tire, stared at her startled face through the spokes and put his hand on top of hers where it rested on the rubber treads. Something sparked a shiver across his skin. He told himself it was the cooling sweat on his body but that was as blatant a lie as he’d ever told, even to himself. The contact between their flesh tied him up in knots. That, and the wary turbulence in the depths of those astonishing hazel eyes.
“I’ll either do this for you or take you back to the bike rental. Your choice, Livia.” Her tightening jaw reminded him of his manners.
