Love Bites (22 page)

Her fingers gravitated to the curling mane on the toy horse. “A symbol for what?”

“My intent to romance you and take my time.” He stroked the top of her hand lightly, taking heart when she didn’t pull away. “Yes, we got to know each other in those conversations, but I didn’t have the opportunity to give you a first, second, third and thirtieth date. You deserve the romance, to feel adored.”

And God knew, he did adore this woman.

Her fingers fisted around the purple pony. “What about the things I said on the boat? What if those thirty dates aren’t everything you expected?”

He’d been so mesmerized by her strength, he’d overlooked her own vulnerabilities. He was the one who’d failed here. She’d been right about him idealizing things. Now he needed to be real. For her. For them.

Lifting her hand, he risked a kiss on her wrist. “Our time on the boat was pretty damn amazing—and I don’t just mean the hot tub. Fishing. Dinner. Being with you is everything.” He squeezed her hand. “Except, wait, I’m rushing you again. So let me back up. I want more dinners. A movie. Horseback riding for real. Can we do that?”

“Horseback riding?” She sat up straighter, her eyes lighting with unmistakable excitement.

“I spoke with the shelter director—Tasha—the lady who helped with Penny. She told me they have some horses in their care now. They need volunteers to work with them, the same way volunteers help with the dogs. I told her to count me in.” And he had to admit, he was stoked about the notion.

“You’re fostering a horse? Where?”

“Tough to do on a houseboat.” Right now probably wasn’t the time to tell her he’d started house shopping. That fell into the category of pressuring her. “But they need help at the shelter, too. I thought we could go riding after you get off work. Unless there’s something you would rather do.”

“What if it turns out my body doesn’t cooperate with horseback riding?” Her eyes filled with tears. “And in case you’re wondering, the pony thing is becoming a metaphor. What if I fail at a real relationship? It’s so much easier to dream about something. Dreams stay perfect.”

Damn, she was so special she was breaking his heart. “I don’t want perfection.”

“You deserve perfection.” She reached up to cup his face in her hands.

“So do you.” He skimmed her hair back with his knuckles. “But I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, and I’m far from perfect.”

She swayed toward him and that was all the encouragement he needed. He scooped her up into his arms and shifted them both into a chair at the table, Leah in his lap. She looped her arms around his neck and leaned right into the kiss he knew couldn’t go too far with a store full of customers.

She nipped his bottom lip. “I think you’re amazing.”

“Then why are you dumping me?”

“You really want to try this?” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “With me?”

“Yes, Leah, I really do. You are without question the most amazing woman I have ever met. I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet someone like you. After the way I grew up, I do not take for granted how rare, how special it is to find a person as genuinely good as you.”

“Wow,” her eyes filled with tears again, “that was…beautiful.”

“I meant it.”

“And what you said on the boat, the part about having fallen for me, about wanting to get married?”

“I’m not going to apologize for saying that, only for saying it too soon. But hey, my lips are sealed on the subject of love and marriage until you’re ready.”

“What if I were to unseal your lips? What if I were to kiss you, tell you I love you too, and then kiss you again….” She wriggled closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. “Could you be persuaded to tell me how much you love me? Could we make some plans for the future?”

“I believe you could convince me to do just about anything.”

She inched back, but only far enough to pull off her apron. “What do you say we leave, so we can get started on that date and put your theory to the test?”

“I say yes.” Standing, he held Leah in his arms, their dogs at his side.

God, it was good to finally be home.

USA Today
bestselling author and RITA Award-winner
CATHERINE MANN
lives in the Florida panhandle with her flyboy husband, their four children, three dogs and one cat (who thinks he’s a dog). The Mann family has fostered more than fifty puppies and special-needs dogs for their local Humane Society, where Catherine serves on the board of directors. For more information on Catherine Mann, her work and her adventures in pet fostering, she can be found online at:

Website: http://catherinemann.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CatherineMannAuthor

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/CatherineMann1

And look for Catherine's edgy new "Alpha Brotherhood" series launching in August 2012 with
An Inconvenient Affair
(Harlequin Desire)!

By Jules Bennett

There was no way this place would be cleaned up before Mr. High and Mighty arrived. Of course, if the farm weren't in tip-top shape, perhaps he'd decide that there was too much work to be put into such a rundown house in a small, no-name town, even if the stables were halfway decent. She could only pray he would take a slight glance and, repulsed at what he saw, head off to any other town, to flip those old, glamorous homes she'd seen featured in magazines.

But that was a long shot, and Allison Barrett had no right to think any of this place was hers. And that's what hurt the most. When Charlie Wymer had passed on only a month ago, he'd not left the “estate,” such as it was, to her as she'd hoped, dreamed. He'd left it to his only living relative, Mr. Jake Anderson.

And Jake was due any day to see about fixing up the house, putting it on the market, selling it off and going back to his big life of making money and renovating homes just to make a profit, and to hell with everyone else.

Allison jammed her pitchfork into another pile of hay, trying to clean out all the manure. As she flung it over her shoulder, a burst of laughter escaped, echoing in the stable. She'd love to see Charlie's nephew try mucking a stall, just once. The image brought a bright light onto her dim mood. She doubted he even knew the difference between a quarter horse and a Thoroughbred, a colt or a filly.

Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of the horses that she and Charlie had rescued over the years. Any money they’d received from donations had gone to keeping the animals safe and fed and nursed back to health. Unfortunately, not all of them made it. The loss never got any easier; if anything, the guilt of not being able to save the animal wedged deeper into her heart each time.

Allison shoved the pitchfork back into the pile and gave another fling over her shoulder.

“What the hell?”

Allison jerked around, shocked at the stranger standing just feet behind her. She'd been so caught up in her fantasy of a big-city hotshot flinging crap, she'd completely blocked out reality and obviously hadn't heard anyone sneak up.

Though by the looks of the man standing just feet from her, this had to be the long-lost nephew. The snazzy jeans, sans rips and tears, the shiny black loafers and a long-sleeved, tight black tee that hugged wide shoulders and well-defined biceps made it pretty obvious.

Even if she hadn't seen his pic plastered over every home-improvement magazine, she'd know this man was certainly not from Langston, North Carolina.

And while his choice of wardrobe made him stick out in these parts like the proverbial sore thumb, it was the pile of crap on his cheek and shoulder that drew her attention and had her smirking.

Southern hospitality at its finest.

His index finger made a swipe across his jaw, flinging a small, dark blob to the straw-covered concrete. “Tell me this isn't what I think it is.”

“That depends on whether you think it's horse manure.” She wanted to laugh, but didn't feel this was the appropriate time. Later, though. For now she'd take a mental picture so she could enjoy the amusing image once she was alone. “And you are?”

Though she already knew, she wanted to hear him say it.

“Jake Anderson.” With careful movements, he tugged the tee from his jeans and, despite the chilling temps, pulled it over his head, careful not to smear any more across his face than necessary. Turning his shirt inside out, he wiped his face. “Is this how you treat all your guests?”

Oh, no. He did not just take his shirt off as if he didn't have a clue of the effect his perfect body had.

Great, now instead of laughing later at his stunned expression, she'd be fantasizing about how abs like that would feel under her fingertips.

If he was trying to distract her, it was working. But only for a moment. Seeing a man's chest had never before rendered her speechless; no need to let a spurt of immaturity overtake the moment. She had her head on straight, and if he wanted to fight dirty, she was game. “Only guests who threaten my home,” she said with a sweet smile, leaning on her pitchfork. “There's a sink over in the corner if you'd like to wash the rest of manure off. I'm sure there's a spare shirt in the tack room.”

He eyed her another minute as if he wanted to say more, and she had no doubt he did, but he kept his mouth shut and marched to the sink. Smart man.

Her hands and insides may have been shaking, but there was no way she was going down without a fight. This farm was the only thing that had saved her from a childhood of pain—a childhood nobody should ever have been subjected to—and she'd be damned if she would let an outsider take it away.

She went into the tack room, grabbed a spare shirt that belonged to Tucker, her only worker, and headed back out to her unwanted guest.

If Jake Anderson thought she'd pack her bags, and her horses, and leave without a word, he had another think coming. Her own father may not have taught her how to stand up for herself—he could barely stand up himself…literally—but Charlie had taught her that and so much more. She owed everything to the man who’d stepped up to rescue her when she’d needed it most. And choosing another path when life threw a fork in the road would certainly just be a slap in the face of his memory.

Allison clutched the old, plaid flannel shirt and kept her eye on Jake while he washed off. He draped his shirt over the edge of the sink, grabbed some paper towels and dried himself. Once he’d pitched the sheets into the trash, he stalked back. And yes, a man who looked that sexy, that predator like, stalked. He probably turned on the charm, threw a dimpled smile—and yes, there were dimples, two of them—and thought he could have any woman do anything he suggested. Too bad she was immune to charm and dimples.

Well, she wanted to be immune to them. She could still appreciate the man’s exterior, but that didn't mean she had to like the cold heart that lurked inside.

“I need to speak to the person who runs these stables now,” he told her, settling his hands on narrow, denim-clad hips.

She thrust the shirt at him. “Here, put this on.”

He shrugged into the shirt and, wouldn't you know, his magnificent pecs kept it from buttoning all the way up. Fan-flippin’-tastic.

Allison shoved a stray hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “You're here to sell, right? What exactly do you expect me to do with all the horses we're nursing back to health? What about the ones who are pending adoption or the dogs I've recently taken in? Where do you expect all of us to go?”

The litter of puppies had been abandoned in a box at the end of her long drive. People in this tiny town knew she was a sucker for strays…having practically been one herself.

Jake raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Can I just speak to the stable hand? I'll take up my business with him.”

Allison smirked. She could so use this to her advantage, but she’d never been one for playing games. “There is no
him
in charge,” she told him, swallowing the lump of remorse that crept up anytime she thought of Charlie. “Since your uncle passed, I'm the manager, stable hand, proprietor and anything else that falls under the umbrella of those titles. How can I help you?”

Jake stared at the raven-haired beauty with a chip on her shoulder. Oh, yeah, she knew exactly why he was here and she wasn't into playing games. Which was good, because he didn't have time for them either…and he'd lost his sense of humor somewhere back, about the same time his ex-wife had left with barely a note after depleting their joint bank account.

He offered her a smile anyway, knowing charm usually worked. “You have an obvious advantage over me, as it seems you know who I am.”

Almost as if mocking him, she smirked. “The prodigal nephew? Yeah, I've heard all about you from Charlie.”

She turned to finish working in the stall—mucking it, or whatever the hell that was called. Obviously she didn't have enough manners to supply her name. At least she'd offered a shirt, even if it was too small.

“And you are?” he asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in his tone.

“Allison,” she said, as she continued to dig her pitchfork into the straw.

He stepped back, not wanting another manure episode.

“Unless you're here to offer condolences, which it's a little late for, I don't really want to hear what you have to say.”

This bitterness obviously stemmed from fear, but Jake wasn't here to make friends. He’d come to his estranged uncle's farm to renovate and sell the place that had been willed to him, and quickly return home to Florida to get back to work on the set of condos he'd recently purchased. That was going to turn a big profit and make him a nice home right there on the beach in Miami. Now, that was a lifestyle he'd gladly run to.

“If you could turn around and talk to me, that would be helpful,” he told her. “I apologize for the impression you have of me, but I assure you I'm not an ogre out to take advantage of you or your horses.”

She spun around, planting her pitchfork firmly beside her. Jake had the sinking feeling she'd like to use that weapon of choice on him, but he wasn't one to scare easy, especially when facing a little sprite of a woman. But her temper was flaring—that much was evident. Whatever she had to say, he might as well let her, so he could move on with his plans.

“Let me ask you this.” She rested one hand on her tool, one on her round hip. “Do you intend to sell this property?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything I can say or do to change your mind?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then this conversation is over.”

Before she could turn back around and ignore him, he reached for her arm and held her in place. “This farm is legally mine, so I'd think you would want to work with me on this.”

Her eyes went from his hand on her arm to his face. “If I can't change your mind, how is it we're supposed to work together? Your uncle slaved over this farm for nearly two decades, and I started here fifteen years ago. We've built something here, and you think I'm just going to go along with you selling it? This is my life.”

The hitch in her voice got to him.

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot, and obviously you have the worst impression of me.” He slid his hands in his pockets, trying to seem less intimidating. “I'm staying at the bed-and-breakfast off Route 4. Let me clean up and this evening we can talk. I can come back around six.”

Those mesmerizing green eyes, still narrowed, held so much hurt and anger. “Fine, but you won't change my mind. Renovating and selling this place will never be okay with me.”

“Who told you I would renovate it?” he asked, though the house itself was falling apart and in major need of some repairs, and those were indeed his exact plans.

“That's all Charlie talked about,” she told him. “His amazing nephew who flipped houses. You were featured in two magazines and on TV once. I know all about what you do and why you're here. You have nothing personal invested in this farm, in these poor animals. So, are you gonna lie to my face and tell me you're not planning on gutting my home and turning it over for a profit?”

He'd never lied to a woman and he didn't intend to start now. “I'll see you at six.”