Chapter 1
“I didn’t think you’d show up.”
The man’s voice rumbled low and slow, like thunder on
a Nevada night in spring. A ripple ran up Kristabel Lewis’s
spine.
What she wouldn’t give for that voice to say those
words in that tone to her.
Tempting as his voice was she didn’t bother to turn
when a few moments later the man sat down next to her on the
royal-blue enamel bench that faced the JC Penney department
store. Krista nudged her hip away from the stranger with the
tummy-dipping voice, inching over until the crunch of her
shopping bags stopped her.
She bent down and heeled the packages at her feet to
further shove them under the bench. Even the large bag
containing her new piece of luggage slid easily on the
high-buffed, granite-colored tile.
That’s when she noticed a flash of red and yellow—up
and down, up and down. The colorful sole of the man’s long
sneaker bobbed up and down on his knee.
Krista had
heard those tales about a man’s manliness being judged by the
size of his sneaker. This man must be one manly man. About a
size twelve worth, she figured.
She closed
one eye and tried to make out the red and yellow pattern on the
bouncing sneaker bottom. The colors seemed to form a dog of
sorts. It looked to be a blurred greyhound.
Her head
wanted to bob in time with the dog, so she shifted her eyes
upward. His bare ankle and a few sprigs of dark hair flashed at
her wickedly.
“Ahemm.”
That
attention-getting rumble seemed directed at her, but she knew
better. Krista didn’t know any man with a voice that could make
her insides quake.
She sat up
and crossed her misty-gray stockinged legs. Her hose matched
her side-vented skirt, which promised to be this season’s
hottest color and this season’s hottest length, or so the store
clerk had assured her.
Krista
plucked at the sleeve of her red jacket. She’d just chalked up
another successful shop-till-you-drop Saturday at the Kramesward
Mall. Too bad she had nowhere to wear the hot outfit she’d
gotten on sale today. Too bad she had nowhere to wear the last
six outfits she’d gotten on sale. The only place she went
lately, other than to the library where she worked, was to the
mall in hot pursuit of yet another designer delight.
But that
was about to change with her new luggage. The suitcase was her
birthday treat to herself. She figured that age thirty was past
time to get on with her plans for her much dreamed of tour of
all of the states.
Krista
crossed her arms and wagged her foot. After a moment her gaze
drifted back to where she’d left off, the man’s ankle, which
bobbed faster now. Whoever he was waiting for had his jeans
revving—his well-worn, well-washed, well-fitting jeans that
covered his long, lanky legs.
Another “Ahemm.”
Curiosity
uncrossed Krista’s legs as she pushed onward and upward. A red
sweater hugged his broad chest. A few dark hairs flashed at her
from its Vee neck and stopped her. She smiled at his neck. So
far as she could see, the man was a lean, mean, sexy machine.
“You aren’t
sorry you showed up, are you?” The man leaned forward. His
face shadowed hers. There was no mistake. The sex machine was
talking to her.
Her eyes
darted about. Not a soul within hearing distance. The man
must’ve been talking to her all along. Obviously, a case of
mistaken identity.
She was
about to tell him so when she faced off with him and her words
froze.
His dark blond hair, although cut short, seemed wily
and unpredictable. So did his hazel eyes.
The man couldn’t be considered handsome. His lips
were wide, same with his nose. His smile was crooked, but
friendly. His face had a compelling charm about it. His
hazel-brown eyes held hers in a time warp.
“No, I’m not sorry,” she mumbled instead. She elbowed
the packages on the seat beside her and pointed her gray suede
toe at the large bags tucked beneath the bench. “I found
bargains galore.”
“I bought socks. I forgot to pack them.” His large
hand crumpled a tiny bag. “You a bit of a shopaholic?” he asked
in that low, rumble of a voice.
“Yes.” A bit wasn’t exactly a lie, just a monumental
understatement. Lately, shopping had become her social life, or
rather her substitute for one. She bought stylish outfits with
matching shoes or jewelry to wear on romantic dates that she had
yet to meet and on her adventure around the country that she had
yet to begin. Until then, she stuffed them into her closet
where hanger space was becoming something to‑die‑for.
“You never mentioned the shopaholic part.” His low
rumble hinted of intimacy. She found that compelling, too. He
slid his arm along the back of the metal bench, drawing her in
further.
She couldn’t mention much of anything, what with her
tongue and her mind doing flips over that voice of his. Not
that she wanted to mention anything resembling the truth about
the mix up just yet. She’d soak up a bit more of his
mesmerizing voice and eyes first.
“I, I don’t overspend,” she said at last. “I hunt out
great sales.”
Dull, dull, dull.
No wonder her recent dates didn’t ask her out after
the third movie. Of course, by the third date, if they hadn’t
lost interest, Krista had. She’d given up on dating until she
perfected her flirting skills. But for the date magnet sitting
next to her she’d forego the skills and wing it.
Krista talked on. “I have no other hobbies.”
“I’m not into bowling or darts myself.” His voice
rippled through her. He grinned, a big friendly grin that
rippled through her also. “I remember you saying you had no
hobbies.”
She had? When?
Never, that’s when. This situation reeked of a blind
date gone awry. Krista tugged at the placket of her red
jacket. Then she glanced again at his red sweater. Was that
the signal color? She scanned the crowd for other women wearing
red.
She spotted two. One gray-haired woman with pumping
elbows and very tight curls power-walked by. Her flashy
red-and-silver metallic jog suit never slowed down a pace. That
pretty much ruled her out.
The other was a teenager with green-streaked, orange
hair and black lipstick. Her red sweater dangled with purple
bangles. She snapped her fingers and skipped around in a small
circle, dancing to a beat that definitely wasn’t the “Moon
River” ballad playing over the sound system.
Then a boy approached. From beneath his shaved head
and pierced eyebrow, even white teeth smiled out at the world
and the girl. She waved her sleeve-covered hands at him, then
skipped across the polished floor into his arms. So much for
the ladies in red.
“You type a lot faster than you talk.” He smiled
again. An intimate smile came over his intimate mouth, from
which his rum‑tumble voice generated.
His blind date must be a typist.
Krista smiled back at him. What to do? She was
reluctant to reveal his error in identity and leave the intimacy
of his arm and his mouth.
“You have no hobbies at all?” she asked, biding her
time.
“Just dining and dancing,” he replied.
Dining and dancing, what a dreamy hobby. Between his
voice and physique and his dreamy hobby, the man was nothing
less than a date magnet.
“Are you a good dancer?” She almost sighed at the
thought of being moved around a dance floor wrapped in his
muscular, strong arms. Of course, when he discovered she wasn’t
his blind date he’d most certainly dance off without her.
“I took ballroom dance lessons for a phys ed credit in
college.” His low, masculine voice teased at her ear, and her
stomach, and the tips of her gray suede shoes.
“Really?” Another clever remark she couldn’t take
back. Where were the conversation skills she’d been brushing up
on during her lunch break at the library? She’d have thought by
page eighty-three of Flirting 101 something would click
in her mind or on her tongue.
He shifted on the bench and drew her further into his
masculine space. “A 4.O grade point average,” he said.
Krista smiled graciously. What could a little dinner
and dancing hurt? He might like her more than his blind date,
the typist who’d stood him up. Then he’d be glad. She’d be
glad.
And if not glad, at least Krista would have somewhere
to wear the Donna Karan dinner suit she’d gotten on sale last
month down in Reno. Besides that, today was her birthday and
she hadn’t had a decent date in months, she rationalized.
“I don’t have a degree in dancing.” Chalk up another
brilliant statement for her. But with him looking at her like
that, like she was capable of walking, no, make that dancing on
air, she couldn’t remember one witty passage from one witty page
of the book on flirting.
“So are you saying you’ll be stepping on my toes?”
Again he grinned.
“As long as there’s no fancy footwork, your toes will
be safe.” That reply surprised her. It was almost witty.
“Tonight then?”
She nodded and all but sighed into his hazel eyes.
Any Saturday night would be fine.
Recently, she’d been opting to stay home and wash her hair, her
lingerie, the cat. Well, Kitty was her neighbor’s cat. Krista
cat-sat Saturday nights whenever her next door neighbor, Ellie,
went away for the weekend. Not that Ellie wouldn’t enjoy Kitty
along on her long drive, but Kitty got carsick.
“Eight o’clock okay?” the golden specks in his eyes
asked.
“Eight’s okay,” she said mesmerized by the specks and
his voice. The way he said ‘okay’ made the notion of going out
with a total stranger seem completely okay.
A crowded restaurant and a crowded dance floor sounded
safe enough, she assured herself. If not, she’d show him a
demonstration of the street karate she learned in the
self-defense course at the YMCA this past winter. Her
instructor had bragged that her kick-to-the-nose was the best
he’d ever seen.
Looked like Kitty was on her own tonight. Dining and
dancing beat out cat sitting for a thirtieth birthday
celebration any time. Turning thirty was bad enough, but
turning thirty with only the cat for company was downright
depressing. Maybe she’d bring a doggie bag home for Kitty.
“I guess it’s time to download, so to speak.” His
hazel eyes sparkled under the mall lighting.
Download? What did that have to do with Kitty’s bag
and her happy-feet gliding across a dance floor wearing her
brand new Aigner dress pumps? Download rang of computer lingo
even to Krista’s untrained ear. Just what she needed was more
awkward communication problems.
She’d known computers weren’t for her when the teacher
over at the high school instructed her to click on START to
STOP. That’s when Krista decided to drop the night class.
“As we agreed, no nicknames now that we’re out of the
chatroom.” He held out a large, strong hand that had long,
strong fingers. “I’m Dirk Raynard. Out at the homestead we do
some digital farming and ranching and provide stock for Nevada’s
semi-pro rodeo circuit, mostly bulls.” He continued to hold her
hand. “All with the help of my Pentium-powered PC.”
Was the size of hands like the size of feet she
wondered as the warmth of his long fingers and large palm
engulfed her much smaller hand?
She blinked up at Dirk. “Kristabel Lewis. Most
everyone calls me Krista. I’m an assistant librarian, with the
help of a very no-tech, Dewey decimal, card catalog system.
Computerization hasn’t been allocated for the library for this
year or for next.” She hoped that curbed any further computer
talk he might have on his mind.
“Kristabel,” he repeated, with a lopsided, trusting
smile.
For all of a heartbeat, she wanted to confess that
she’d never been in a chatroom. Then he squeezed her hand and
her heart skipped a beat and the confession.
“Interesting name,” he said. “It has nothing to do
with your nick.”
“No, it doesn’t.” What did her chatroom nickname have
to do with, she wondered?
“Rancher kind of speaks for itself.” He chuckled.
She laughed a nervous little laugh and crossed her
legs, then her fingers, hoping he didn’t ask her to explain her
nick.
“Care to go for coffee before I help haul your
packages out to your car?” He stood.
She stood, too. The tall, lean, sexy, dancing machine
was more than a head taller than she was and just the perfect
height for dancing. This was going to be one birthday to
remember.
Dirk manhandled the larger of her packages while she
scooped the smaller bags into what he called her ‘graceful
arms.’ He touched her elbow and escorted her over to the
cappuccino bar in the food court where the aroma of coffee beans
and spices lingered on the air.
After settling her and her packages at a small, chrome
table, they each picked a gourmet coffee flavor.
“Hmm, cinnamon,” Krista said when she sipped hers.
Dirk sat on the chrome chair across from hers and
clicked a blue Bic.
“I’ll need your address and your phone number, in case
I get lost.” His Bic pen hovered over the square, paper napkin.
“Maybe I should meet you somewhere. Not that I don’t
trust you. But, my neighbor, Ellie, she’s my best friend, she’d
have a cow if she found out you came out to the house.
Actually, she’ll have a cow when she finds out about you.”
Dirk
ruffled his free hand through his hair. “But I thought you were
satisfied after you emailed Pansy Potter and she vouched for my
upstanding character.”
“Pansy Potter.” Krista nodded. “Didn’t she write the
book, “Like an Animal?” I met her at a library book
signing. She’s a lovely person.” Krista had heard many good
things about the trustworthy, local northern-Nevada author.
“That’s the same Pansy. Vet, author and old school
chum.” Dirk smiled. “Then I’ll pick you up at your house like
a proper date should.”
“I’m sure Pansy’s word will be good enough for my
friend Ellie.” It would certainly be good enough for Krista.
When she got home, she intended to give Pansy Potter a call. If
Pansy didn’t vouch for Dirk, her next call would be to her own
old school chum, Gabe Hallinger, the local chief of police.
Dirk nodded and Krista recited her address and
directions.
With a few flicks of her wrist, she explained a tricky
left-right-left turn. Dirk’s eyes followed her slender,
delicate wrist while it sensually snaked back-and-forth and
back-and-forth. If only she knew, those entrancing motions were
wiping all sense of direction right out of his head.
“I think I got the gist of it.” He cleared his throat
and squinted down at the tiny square. “No apartment number?”
“No. I own my home.” She puckered her perfect red
lips into a bow and gently blew on her steaming cappuccino. The
foam didn’t moved but every nerve in his body did. Every single
neuron twitched and twittered. Thankfully, before any nerve
damage set in, she stopped blowing.
He scribbled furiously on another napkin, then held it
out to her. “FYI.”
She looked at him blankly.
“For your information? Online lingo?”
“Right.” She smiled a shaky smile.
Nerves. He’d figured as much. This first date grated
on his nerves, too, even after six months of verbal foreplay on
the computer. “In the interest of fair play, and your friend
Ellie, that’s my address and phone number. You can call my
brother Chad out at the house if you’d like. He’s the farming
half of the homestead.”
She took the napkin in her graceful fingers. “This is
very fair.” A dark brunette lock feathered down across her
cheek while she read. She flicked at the lock with her
flawlessly manicured fingertips.
Krista was proving to be one surprise after another.
Dirk hadn’t expected her to be so, so, sexy, or so expensively
groomed. She hadn’t sounded the least bit over-priced in the
computer chatroom. He wondered how an assistant librarian could
afford her own home and still shop till she dropped.
“I own my own house, too,” he said. Almost. He and
his brother and the bank did.
“That’s nice.” She sipped at the foam on her coffee.
Dirk supposed there were worse things Krista could be
besides rich. Dishonest came to mind. He had little tolerance
for liars, cheats, or thieves since their accountant disappeared
with last year’s profits.
“A ranch house, I suppose,” she mumbled.
He nodded and smiled. In the chatroom she’d been much
more articulate and clever. She was probably uptight over this
face-to-face get together. Although her lips looked anything
but uptight as she sipped at her coffee. They looked, red and
wet and sensual.
He shifted on the chair. Suddenly, his jeans were
cramping his comfort. His discomfort wasn’t all in his jeans or
due to her lips, though. He had to admit, despite the hours
they’d spent online laughing at the same jokes and exchanging
snappy dialogue, this meeting in the flesh was daunting.
“When I get back to the hotel, I’ll make reservations
for tonight. Is there anywhere special you’d like to go?”
“No.” She shook her head.
She was definitely chattier in cyberspace. Over on
the bench, he’d thought she wasn’t going to speak to him at
all. Once she’d gotten a good look at him, he figured she’d
changed her mind altogether.
Big and average might not be her type. That’s why
he’d given her plenty of time. In case she decided to bolt.
But she hadn’t.
Was he ever glad she hadn’t. Of all the women he’d
met on the Net, she’d been his first choice. As soon as he’d
set eyes on her, she’d become his only choice. She was not only
bright and sassy—well once she relaxed he was sure she’d be
bright and sassy again—but she was feminine and graceful and a
knockout. Who said this computer dating stuff couldn’t be
exacted into a science?
*****
After
shuffling Krista and her packages into her tan Volvo, Dirk
climbed into his black Ford Bronco and adjusted the visor
against the late day sun. Springville was about an hour drive
from the city. She wouldn’t have much time to get ready for
their date. But he recalled her saying she was a punctuality
freak so he punched the gas pedal on his way back to the hotel
and again on his way out of town.
The address she’d given him was on a shady, maple
tree-lined street. He found her house easily, considering the
snaking hand directions she’d given him. Snaking tongues and
other snaking body parts had flashed before his eyes during most
of that distracting demonstration.
After parking behind her Volvo in the macadam
driveway, he vaulted up the three steps to her stoop. He
couldn’t contain his energy. He had good vibes about their
date.
At exactly eight o’clock, Dirk rang the doorbell.
Five minutes ticked by. By the porch lights, he studied her
eaves and her shutters. From where he stood, the two-story
house looked to be freshly painted and in good repair. He rang
the bell again and picked imaginary lint from his black suit
jacket. He watched moths gather near the lights. He sniffed in
the smell of early honeysuckle from the nearby trellis. Another
five minutes squeaked by. So much for punctuality. It seemed a
bit of exaggeration came along with this Internet dating stuff.
Then the oak door swung open.
“I’m almost ready.” Krista hopped up and down on one
foot while gracefully manipulating her other into a high heel.
“Looks as if you need a hand.” He pointed to her
droopy neckline. She nodded and he circled her.
When Dirk drew the two sides of her dress together,
his knuckles grazed her backbone. Her skin felt silky smooth.
It was as soft as angel hair and smelled like heaven—or maybe
hell because he was suddenly burning up. He trailed one hand
down the length of her zipper to below her waist. His rough,
callused fingers nearly snagged the soft, ivory fabric. With a
slight tug, the zipper edged upward. Slowly, the plastic teeth
bit into each other, then even slower. He savored the feel of
her body beneath the movement. When at last her zipper was
zipped, he had an urge to yank it back down and start all over
again.
Geez Loueez,
he blew out soundlessly. Since when had zipping zippers become
such a peak experience? He’d have to keep breathing to a
minimum around her heavenly aroma.
He palmed her bare shoulders. The skin was heavenly
there, too, to the touch and to the smell. Against his better
judgment he breathed in way too deeply. He turned her in his
arms.
“There.” He checked out his handiwork. The scooped
neckline of her dress no longer drooped. Now it merely plunged,
enticingly. He kicked back an urge to plant a succulent kiss
between those tantalizing, creamy mounds.
“Thanks.” Her soft brown eyes met his for a second
before she twisted in his arms and plucked her jacket from the
newel post. The silky, ivory material crushed between them as
she held it tightly to her chest. “I have to say good-night to
Kitty before we go.” Her wispy breath teased his lips.
“Kitty? You have a roommate?” More surprises.
“No, that’s Kitty.”
She pointed one pretty pink nail in the direction of a
scraggly, gray cat perched on the back of a turquoise chintz
chair.
“You never mentioned you had a pet.” Dirk followed
her swaying hips into the cozy living room.
“Kitty’s not mine. She stays over whenever my
neighbor, Ellie, visits her boyfriend. He’s in prison.”
“Prison.” He could hear his voice rise. And Krista
and her friend had been worried about Dirk’s character.
She waved one of her delicate hands. “Nothing serious
like murder.” She nuzzled the scraggly, gray fur ball. “Night,
Kitty. Only five more minutes until “This Old Cat” comes
on.” With a flicker of pink, she tapped the remote until the TV
clicked on and flashed through the channels to seventy-seven.
Krista smiled up at Dirk. “Ready?”
She had a great smile, irresistible actually, and a
great mouth. What he’d like to do to that ladylike mouth
couldn’t be put to words. He’d like to kiss it, taste it,
tongue it, suck it.
Instead, he trailed after her, like a contented cat
purring at her heels. She had pretty heels, expensive leather
ones. One thing a cattleman knew was leather.
Then thoughts of leather flew from his head. She bent
and flicked on the night light in the entranceway. With a
swish, the ivory dress stretched tight across her bottom. He
tugged at the collar of his shirt. She had a very female fanny.
“Kitty prefers to sleep with the light on.” Krista
bent down further to fluff the pastel blanket in Kitty’s wicker
bed. Her round female bottom wriggled with each fluff. He
opened the button at the collar of his shirt.
Finally, they were off. Once more he trailed after
her high heels. Her heels clicked across the brick sidewalk and
over to the driveway. He helped her climb into the Bronco,
which was a bit of a stretch for her frou-frou, short dress.
That’s when he discovered she had very long, female legs to go
with her very round, female fanny.
He had one heady hour’s drive ahead of him back into
the city. The closeness of her heavenly scent had his blood
pumping hot, when his blood shouldn’t be pumping hot, not over
anything as trivial as her smell anyway. It’s not as if she’d
flung those legs or fanny at him.
He blamed it on the bulls. Compared to the stink of
bulls that he was accustomed to, her fragrance would boil any
man’s blood. He cracked the window open hoping for a whiff of
sagebrush as they drove by the open countryside.
Dirk chatted, while Krista gave brief, general
answers. The drive seemed to stretch on for more than an hour.
How long would it take her to get used to him? How long until
she became chatty and witty like in the chatroom? He hoped
she’d loosen up soon.
At last, they arrived at the hotel. The restaurant
staff helped fill in the gaps in their almost one-sided
conversation.
The maître d’ greeted them and showed them to a table
draped in pink linen. A silver vase held a pink rose and
candles flickered from a silver holder. Through the candle
glow, Krista looked like an elegant angel seated across from
Dirk.
The angel provoked hot urges in his manhood and warm
ones around his heart? How could he not fall for her?
The angel smiled at him. “So how’s, a, everyone?”
“You mean my brother? Didn’t you call him?”
She shook her head no.
“Guess you didn’t have time.” Dirk shrugged. “Chad’s
Chad. He’s still romancing the entire R.F.D Singles Club one at
a time.”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“All done with slight of hand and no computer.” Dirk
reached across the table and touched Krista’s dainty hand. “I
tried selling him on a computer search, but he has a criteria
all his own.”
Dirk thumbed the silky skin between her thumb and
finger. He’d been one lucky computer nerd to run into her on
the Internet.
All too soon the menus arrived and Dirk let go of her
angelic hand. Once dinner got underway, Krista began loosening
up.
She started off with a shrimp appetizer, not that her
appetite needed teasing. His darling angel ate her jumbo shrimp
with the gusto of a pregnant mare.
The more she ate, the looser she got though. By the
time the lobster bisque arrived she was downright chatty, if not
yet witty.
“Today’s my birthday,” she said. “I didn’t tell you
earlier because I didn’t want you to feel you had to fuss. I
bought Kitty a cat bed as a birthday treat. That’s what was in
one of the large packages you carried.”
He crooked his head. “I thought you said you were a
Capricorn?”
“Capricorn, Cancer, Cleo. . .I can never keep track of
all those signs.” She spooned up a mouthful of soup.
“You mean Leo,” he corrected.
“Leo?” Another spoonful of soup disappeared. “See,
that’s what I mean.” Her spoon paused only long enough for her
to release a puff of exasperation.
“How old are you again?” Dirk asked.
“Thirty.” She flipped her delicate wrist and checked
her dainty, gold watch. “As of exactly twenty minutes ago.
What was your age again?” she asked.
“Thirty-six. I assumed you were already thirty-plus,”
he said. “After all we did meet in the Thirty-Something
Chatroom.”
“Never assume.” She wagged one long, feminine finger
at him.
“Point taken.” Playfully, he swiped at the tip of her
pointed pink nail.
The waiter cleared away the soup bowls and served
their dinner. Krista nibbled down a steak filet, a baked potato
smothered with sour cream, and a steamed vegetable medley, while
she recited the library’s best-seller list. Between bites of
food and small, feminine dabs of her pink linen napkin, she gave
Dirk a synopsis on each and every book on the top-ten list.
“You’re really into novels,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t just read novels. I’m reading up on all
fifty states, alphabetically. I’m up to the Os. I’m also
reading the encyclopedia, and I’m up to the Hs.”
Dirk figured she must have finished the dictionary
because she hadn’t mentioned it. She’d said something once,
online, about being into books. But she’d never mentioned she
was such a voracious reader, or eater. He smiled. A voracious
woman, he liked that. And he’d wanted to like her, just not so
much or so soon.
While she spooned chocolate mousse into her angelic
mouth, her mousse and then his, he fingered his empty spoon.
Chocolate was his biggest weakness, up until now anyway.
She finished her second cup of coffee while he paid
the bill.
“Still interested in dancing?” he asked. What with
all the food she’d chowed down, she probably couldn’t move.
“I think I need the exercise.” She smiled sweetly and
patted her tummy.
When he stood to help her with her chair, he weighed
the wisdom of assisting her with that pat. He wouldn’t mind
patting her down a bit.
He passed on the idea. It was too soon. Although
they’d known each other for six months, this was still
technically their first date.
By skirting a few tables, they wove their way through
the restaurant and out into the lobby. Briefly, they waited in
front of a bank of brass elevators. A swift ride swept them up
to the top floor where dancing took place beneath a glass-doomed
ceiling and the stars.
As soon as they stepped out of the elevator car,
Krista looked up. Starlight sparkled in her gentle brown eyes.
“It’s spectacular, isn’t it?”
“It is.” But she was what was spectacular. She had
to be the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. Haloed in starlight
and dressed in ivory, she was as close to an angel as he’d ever
get in Nevada or on this earth.
He touched his hand to her waist and led her over to a
burgundy, velvet loveseat. They ordered drinks. White wine for
her, a Jim Beam for him. Bourbon should get his head out of the
heavenly clouds and nail his feet to the ground nicely.
After two sips, his black Hush Puppies dug into the
plush rug.
“What do you think?” He figured the decor was a safe,
grounded subject.
“I think we shouldn’t waste anymore time.”
His heart stopped. His thoughts exactly. He gulped
at his bourbon and burrowed his leather soles deeper into the
gray carpeting. But his mind floated anyway, and his tongue
soon followed.
“My room’s on the fifth—”
“Nice.” The angel floated to her feet. Her heavenly
scent circled his head, but this time it seemed tinged with fire
and brimstone. “Let’s talk about your accommodations later and
not waste this divine music a minute longer.”
That got his head out of the clouds fast, his feet
grounded, and anything else that was up went down.
“Yes, let’s dance.” He should’ve known better. The
food had unwound Krista, but not that much.
He led her out onto the tiny dance floor where space
was scarce. Couples swayed to the slow dance tunes a trio of
musicians played. When all her sweetness was put to music and
encircled in his arms that floaty feeling engulfed him all too
quickly. She fit his body precisely. He never imagined heaven
on earth could feel so soft, or round, or pliant.
“You certainly are a smooth dancer,” her silky voice
whispered near his ear.
He had other smooth moves he’d like to show her, but
they had nothing to do with dancing.
“And you dance heavenly,” he managed to mutter without
sucking in too much of her scent.
With a contented smile, she nestled her head beneath
his chin. Now he struggled not to inhale at all. How could
such a heavenly aroma provoke such unheavenly impulses?
She snuggled into him. His body began throwing off
heat faster than an inferno. She had to feel him burning up for
her, yet she seemed unscorched.
After a bit the tempo of the music changed. The next
song was faster, with no body contact. Some dancers left the
floor while others revved up. He got a chance to cool his heels
away from her expensive leather ones, which had been straddling
his Hush Puppy. Maybe his seared thigh would get a chance to
cool off as well.
The half a yard or so that separated them didn’t do
much good though. Krista’s brunette hair swayed and her body
swayed and his thoughts strayed. She shook her fanny at his
groin. He could think of a better use for all that rhythm of
hers. The horizontal boogie came to mind.
What was wrong with him? He’d barely just met the
woman and his testosterone was snorting out of control like a
horny bull during breeding season.
He fought for control. He didn’t want to grope her or
scare her off. He had other feelings growing for her. The
baser ones just seemed to be growing faster at the moment.
When the music slowed down again, his firing inferno
heated up even more. Forced closer by the increased number of
couples squeezing onto the dance floor, he tried to put mind
over matter, sort of give his big head priority over the little
head.
Nope, it was easier not to think at all, or breathe.
She could
sway and smell all she liked. He wasn’t going to think of her
like some one-night stand. This was the woman he intended to
get serious with.
Krista snuggled against his chest and that took the
starch right out of his hotel-starched, white shirt. Her soft,
cuddly moves were melting his resolve fast. Body heat that
radiated from the other dancers made the surrounding air hot and
close. Krista’s body fired up his discomfort.
Then, just in time, the set ended and the band took a
break.
Back on the velvet settee, he breathed easy until she
leaned her head back against the cushions and fanned at her face
with her hands. She looked dewy and breathless and sexy.
“I’m overheated. Are you?” Her eyes were closed so
she didn’t see him dabbing at his forehead with his hankie.
Was he ever?
“Yes.” That was all he could manage to croak out.
The ivory of her dress and her skin contrasted against the rich
burgundy of the sofa and made his mouth go dry.
“Should we take a walk outside to cool off until the
next set?” She rolled her head sideways, lazily. Her long,
dark lashes fluttered open. She looked at him all dreamy-like.
Or maybe the dreaminess was in his mind and not a reflection of
hers.
“Yes.” Cooling off was an excellent idea. He grabbed
her hand and was on his feet in a flash.
In another flash, they were confined within the
polished brass walls of the elevator. He continued to hold her
small, delicate hand. He looked down into her gentle, brown
eyes. She looked up at him. Her pink lips parted, slightly.
“I think we shouldn’t waste anymore time,” she
whispered.
There were those words again. He wasn’t falling for
them this time. This time, he knew she didn’t mean what he’d
hoped she’d meant last time.
Only this time, she did. She wrapped her arms around
his neck, pulled his head down toward her face, and kissed him,
slowly, tenderly.
Mentally, he took stock of how much she’d drunk—not
more than a sip or two of wine. That meant she was sober, and
that she wanted him.
With that,
he pulled her close and got into the kiss. She had soft lips.
Her breath tasted sweet. Her mouth tasted sweet. Her tongue
tasted the sweetest.
This more than made up for the dessert he’d missed out on after
dinner. She tasted better than chocolate. Even better than
Almond Joys and those were his favorite.
Can the city gal find love with the rancher from Nevada? Does
the rancher win her heart? Is it the old saying being at the
right place at the right time? Ejoy this story! –the Romance
Studio
Overall rating: 
Sensuality rating: Very sensual
If you want a light,
easy read, NOBODY'S ANGEL is a " sweet" type romance that will
fit the bill. –Novel Spot Review/Reviewed By: Allie
