Mr. Wonderful Page 4
He grabbed a cold bottle of beer from under a rock in the stream, then lifted her suitcase and carried it to the bathhouse. "Got your brew for you," he announced. "And your duds."
No answer. He should have warned her about taking care in the hot tub. Some people, unused to a sudden infusion of hot mineral water, fainted dead away. He yanked the door open.
Her head was tilted back against the porcelain, her red-gold hair cascading in wet ringlets over the edge of the tub. Her eyes were closed.
"Chloe!"
Her eyes flew open and she gave him a look that could have shattered the bottle in his hand.
"I knocked," he explained, his eyes riveted on the slope of her smooth shoulders as she sank deeper into the water. But not so deep he couldn't catch a glimpse of rosebud-tipped breasts floating like strawberries in a glass of champagne. He drew in a ragged breath, set the bottle on the floor and walked out.
So now they were even, he thought as he stomped down the rickety steps to solid ground. She'd seen him and he'd seen her. It wasn't as if he'd never seen a naked woman before. Then why was his heart pounding in time to some distant drum?
He glanced back at the bathhouse. "Hey," he yelled. "I left your bag at the door."
No answer. He could go back in. Make sure she hadn't succumbed to heat prostration and didn't need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Oh, lord. The idea of
plundering her mouth, exploring the moist hot recesses, set his pulse racing.
As he stared at the door, it opened. Slowly, cautiously, she stuck her head out, extended one bare arm and dragged the tan leather bag inside.
Enough, he told himself. Enough ogling his new neighbor and fantasizing about saving her life by holding her flat against the floorboards, forcing her lips open, filling her lungs with air from his, his hand cradled under her head. He let out a deep breath. And practiced what he'd say when she came out.
"Welcome to Paradise," he'd say. Then he'd wait a minute to let the irony sink in. "It's not much to look at, but it's all there is. Not to worry. Being the good neighbor I am, I'll take it off your hands. Right after dinner. Then I'll give you a ride to your car...your bus, whatever. And you can be on your way." He smiled with satisfaction. He shouldn't have to say much more. The run-down buildings, the overgrown weeds spoke louder than any words.
Chloe let the last draught of the smooth dark beer slide down her throat, then rubbed herself dry with a rough towel she found hanging from a peg on the wall. Her skin tingled, and her body throbbed. She closed her eyes and said a prayer that when she opened the door, the cowboy who thought he was God's gift to women would be gone.
But he was far from gone. Instead, he was kneeling over a campfire, sun-bleached blond hair falling over his forehead, coaxing a bundle of dry sticks to burn. She noticed broad shoulders in blue denim and muscled thighs in tight jeans. She sucked in her breath. He had a gorgeous body, in or out of his clothes.
She reminded herself that his gorgeous body was trespassing on her property and stalked purposefully toward him across the clearing.
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Return to Paradise
Rancher Parker Robinson was having one of those weeks. His cook quit and his daughter was trying her best to get expelled from boarding school. To top it off, he found a strange woman on his ranch who didn't know who she was! What he knew was that she was off limits. She could be another man's wife!
Christine couldn't remember her name or how she got to the ranch in the middle of Colorado. All she knew was that she'd landed in some kind of paradise where men were rugged and women were cherished. Somehow she had to find out who she was, where she came from and most important - was she free to love again?
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