The Rancher's Untamed Heart, page 5
I sighed. Nothing like being told you shouldn't have a job to cut through a haze of arousal.
"Well, I need to come back in a day or two to do a more formal inspection, like you're used to. This time it will take more than two hours, but you'll have more notice."
I hesitated. His arms were still folded across his chest. His shirt was straining a little, and I couldn't help but wonder what his muscles were like underneath it. From how tight he'd held me, and how firm his chest felt against my back, I had the impression that they were glorious.
"Do you have any questions?" I finally asked.
"No. Don't come tomorrow, we'll be too busy," the tall man replied.
"Friday it is! I'll put you down for noon so that I have the entire afternoon to spend on your place. Will that be okay?" I asked.
"I suppose it will have to," he said, twisting his full mouth and shrugging his shoulders. Again, I watched the cloth pull and ripple over his lean muscles.
Suddenly, I'd had it. I'd had it with his snide looks and sullen attitude, ignoring me and being so cold. The flash of humor and goodwill he'd shown me after the snake had actually made it worse, as I knew there was a friendly man in there somewhere. I couldn't help but take it personally.
"Look, I'm just doing my job," I said. "I don't know what you want from me, but you can complain to the governor or my boss all you want, and I'm still just as responsible for inspecting this damn farm of yours!"
He stiffened, all six feet and four inches of his lean frame going taut. "This farm of mine-" he started to say, anger making his voice even deeper and tighter. "Listen to me, you jumped-up little lady, this farm of mine is everything to me."
"Everything? No family, no wife, no girlfriend? No wonder you're so awful, I'll bet you haven't gotten laid in years!" I yelled.
For the briefest of moments, I froze. I couldn't believe I'd said something like that to a client. This was the end of my job, and I couldn't pay rent without it. I couldn't take losing my job, too, this week.
These thoughts flit across my brain so quickly that it appeared that I saw Clint's strong arm shoot out in slow motion, to grab my shoulder.
He shook me, once, like a terrier, and I felt my hair whip around into my mouth. Now, I was angry. He had no right to lay hands on me, no matter what I said and no matter how handsome he was.
The touch of his skin, though, was like lava against me. It had been so long since I'd felt a man's touch, Clint's hand burned against me, I could feel it through my shirt. I took my free hand and reached up to shove his hand off my shoulder.
It was all we could both take.
When my hand touched his, when our skin touched, we were both lost. I could feel the heat surge in my belly and a shiver up my spine.
I splayed my hand out over his to savor the warmth of our skin, and looked up through my lashes into his eyes. We were already standing so close, but I was afraid to close the distance between us - what if my read of the situation was totally wrong? What if he didn't want me like I thought he did?
He very deliberately slid his hand out from under mine and away from my shoulder, and I thought all was lost, until he took both of his hands and cupped my face in his calloused palms. He was such a large man, I felt tiny and delicate in his grasp, feeling his fingers sliding through my hair.
He tilted my face up towards his, gently, but inexorably. I rocked forward onto my toes, ever so slightly, so that I was leaning up and towards his body.
Leaning down, he kissed me. Softly. Deliberately. His lips spread over mine, and one of his hands slid around to the back of my head and held me there, trapped against his mouth, as he eased his lips over mine, deepening this kiss until she gasp and my lips parted.
Instantly, he took advantage of this and he thrust his hot tongue between my lips, sweeping across my own and making me groan into my mouth. Just when I thought I could no longer stand the passion with which he embraced me and ravaged my mouth, he pulled away from me entirely. Without him to hold me up, I sagged, dazed, and blinked up at him.
"I want you," he said. His deep voice was starting to get hoarse. "Do you want me?"
It was a simple question, but I didn't know how to respond. I wanted him, for sure. I wanted him so badly that I could hardly breathe, but when I tried to say so, my throat froze up. Finally, after a moment that was an eternity, I reached out and, as I'd wanted to do since the moment I'd first seen this gorgeous man, I put my hand against his chest. I said nothing, just felt his collarbone under my palm. I let my hand rest there for a moment, feeling the heat of his body, before I answered.
"More than anything," I said.
He was still looking down at me.
"Can you wait long enough to get into the house?" he asked.
I shook my head and reached up to unbutton the top button of his shirt.
Suddenly, the door to the outside opened and we both froze.
"Clint?" a man called from the other end.
"I'll be right there, just showing the inspector around," Clint called back.
Carefully, silently, I pulled my hands away from the man's shirt. He slipped his broad palms off my shoulders and turned away. I was gratified to notice that he squirmed with the first few steps he took, apparently adjusting himself in his jeans. Apparently the heat and fire that were running across my skin were affecting him as well.
I took a moment to get myself together, running my hands through my hair and putting it back up in a simple ponytail. Like the gorgeous man I was watching walk away, I shook myself, trying to rid myself of the arousal and need that had been building in me all afternoon.
Watching him walk away was a treat. He was tall, at least six feet four, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, and long, long legs. I loved to watch his jeans stretch over his muscular thighs with each step, but the best part was observing his tight round ass that even the most practically relaxed of jeans couldn't hide entirely.
"What would it be like to see that ass free and bare?" I asked myself, picturing the glistening globes of skin, visible at last, strong muscles working as that man walked away from me, perhaps to go fetch his shirt from where I'd flung it. When I started imagining him bending over to pick up the shirt, and my breathing hitched, I told myself that I had to stop. With one final quick shake of my head, I followed Clint to the open door several rows away.
As the man I desired had a brief conversation with another farmhand, I went through my clipboard and checked over what I'd jotted down. Everything on the farm seemed to be in order, and I was looking forward to my visit on Friday - if Clint still wanted me.
He turned toward me and I felt a warm flare in my stomach, of hope and desire, laced with a fear of rejection, a fear that everything that had just happened was a fluke, what Clint and I had together was a shivery cobwebby potential that had been blown away by the dusty wind outside the door.
"I've got to go check a fence line. A coyote got through somehow and tore up one of our ewes," he said, all business again. His deep voice was still hoarse around the edges, just barely, and when our eyes met I found none of the embarrassment or anger that I feared, only heat.
"I need to get this information back to the office," I said. "It was nice to meet you, sir."
I held out my hand to shake his. He had a good handshake, firm, without crushing my hand - as I knew he could - in his muscular one. I broke the contact quickly, as I felt my cheeks start to flush, ever so slightly, at the glorious torture of his skin on mine.
With a nod to the farm hand, I turned and walked quickly back to my truck to drive back to the office and type up this paperwork.
Driving down a gravel road was trying, after that visit to the farm - that visit that was such a tease.
One hand on the wheel, I reached between my legs to stroke myself over my pants, to try to relieve the ache that was starting to insist on attention.
Unfortunately, right then, my phone rang and I had to stop before I'd even truly begun. It was my boss, checking on the inspection. I told her that it went well, everything was in order, and I intended to go back on Friday afternoon to complete the non-surprise inspection that Clint Cannon was due for. I mean - the inspection that Clint Cannon' farm was due for.
My boss didn't seem to notice any difference in my manner, so I was able to get off the phone fairly quickly, after assuring her that I was on my way back to the office to submit the day's paperwork.
By the time I'd gotten off the phone, though, it was time to turn off the gravel road and turn away from the farm where I'd had so much fun. I gave myself one final rub through my jeans and shivered, before turning back towards town.
I spent the next three days in a near-lather of excitement, waiting for Friday evening. On the day I met Clint Cannon, I was able to spend an evening all to myself with a bubble bath and a glass of wine, and take the edge off of some of the tension that had built up over the hours leading up to me slipping out of my work shirt and stepping out of my jeans. Unfortunately, the next few days were very busy ones, and when I got home I simply kicked my shoes off, pulled my clothing off, and fell into bed.
Friday morning dawned bright and clear, though. I woke up an hour early to give myself a chance to prepare for the day.
I started with a shower, taking my time and washing every inch of my body with coconut-scented soap and a soft loofah. I paid particular attention to my breasts, soaping and rinsing them repeatedly, in the hopes that they would be as soft and silky as possible, in case they were seen by someone other than me... and, I'll admit it, the desire had built back up within me to a steady ache, and the soft touch of the loofah on my breasts and nipples felt incredible. I shivered as I imagined Clint’s tongue tracing the path that my fingers were taking.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to linger in the shower all day and think about what could happen later. I needed to get out and get dressed and ready to see Clint again.
I turned off the shower and stepped out, taking my old towel and rubbing myself dry before walking down the hallway into my bedroom.
As I opened my underwear drawer, I hesitated. Normally I wore sensible white cotton panties and a beige bra without a hint of lace or decoration, but if things went well I didn’t want Clint to think I was boring or dowdy.
Underneath the rest of my underwear, I dug through and pulled out a little navy blue lace thong that an ex-boyfriend had bought me. I had refused to wear it then, in my college days, but something about the strange man I’d met a few days before made me feel bold and exciting. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any bras that were anything but dull - when did that happen?
After my efficiency with my panties and bra, it took me twenty minutes just to decide what to wear. I couldn’t put on anything that would call attention to me when I went into the office, but I didn’t want to wear anything unflattering, either.
I ended up in a pair of jeans that were just a hair tighter than most of my work pairs, and a white t-shirt that was a little too small. To make it work-appropriate, I wore a summer-weight dark blue sweater. There! My bra and panties might not match, but at least I had some sort of consistency in my outfit. Besides, everyone says dark blues look amazing against my skin.
Once I was dressed, I gathered my keys and wallet. Just before I walked out the door, I hesitated. Turning back to my bedroom, I grabbed a little cotton sundress out of the closet and stuffed it into an old brown leather purse, along with some fresh underwear and a toothbrush - the barest essentials for staying a night at someone else’s house.
When I went to work that morning, I sat at my desk in front of my computer and finished up the reports from the past few days that hadn’t been essential enough to do immediately. Just before 11 o’clock, I went to see my supervisor in her office. We had the same boss, but she was senior enough to me that she could sign off on my plans.
“Sarah?” I asked, knocking on the frame of the open door.
“Come on in,” she said, and smiled at me.
I walked into the office and took the seat she gestured at.
“I am going to head back out to the Cannon’ farm,” I said. “After that, I think I’ll probably head straight home. I’ve put out all of the fires that needed to be taken care of before Monday.”
“All right, that sounds just fine. If you’re done a little early, don’t worry about coming into the office to make up the time, I know you stayed several hours late on Wednesday,” she said. Glancing out the door to make sure no one was in earshot, she leaned towards me with a conspiratorial grin. “So, do you have any fun plans this weekend? Any dates? It’s been almost a year since you and Justin broke up, it’s past time for you to go out and meet someone new!”
Normally, when Sarah spoke of finding someone new, I just laughed and moved on, but this time I blushed redder than red and she pounced.
“I knew it had to happen eventually! Who is the lucky fellow?” she asked.
“There’s no one, Sarah,” I said. “Really, I have to get going or I’ll be late.”
“Oh, all right, get out of here, liar,” she said fondly.
As I drove back down the gravel road, my heart started to beat quickly at the thought of meeting Clint again. Would he touch me? Would our passionate kiss earlier this week be a fluke? Perhaps he'd realize that he could do better, or perhaps our bodies would no longer ignite one another.
Even still, under all of my insecurity, arousal started to coil in the bottom of my stomach, and my nipples started to tingle against my bra.
When I got to the ranch, I didn't see anyone nearby, so I pulled my truck into the same shady spot where I parked before.
I checked to make sure I had my cell phone and wallet and, after a moment of hesitation, picked up the purse with my spare clothing in it and threw it over my shoulder before grabbing my clipboard.
When I stepped out of the truck, I called "Hello! Inspector here!"
Two men stepped out of the nearest barn. One was short and stocky, with brown hair in a ponytail. He was handsome enough, and his smile would normally have made my heart turn over, but I only had eyes for the man next to him.
Clint Cannon was tall and lean, with dark hair and amazing blue eyes. Like the strange man, he was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. The shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and an open button at the top allowed me a glimpse of a dark shadow of chest hair.
I felt a smile start to spread across my face, just as the coiled arousal in my stomach started to spread until I could feel tingles up my spine and heat in my groin.
Waving once at the two men, I walked over to them, sticking my clipboard under my left arm and sticking my right hand out to shake.
"Good afternoon," I said, and the strange man shook my hand, grinning broadly. His skin was smooth and supple, with the hard calluses of any good ranch hand, but his touch did not electrify me in the way Clint’s had earlier in the week - or in my thoughts.
"Afternoon," he said, "My name's Liam Marshall, but you can call me Brandon."
Clint did not smile. He didn't shake my hand, either. He only stood and stared off into the distance, looking over my shoulder without seeming to see me.
Brandon asked me a question about my work, but I didn’t want to think about my work. I wanted to cry, or storm away, or yell at Clint, and more than anything, I wanted to feel his soft mouth on mine.
I blinked, and shook my head a little to clear it.
“Uh, yes. I’d like to go ahead and start by checking the hay,” I said. “Would that be all right, Mr. Cannon?”
“Fine,” he said. Curt. Sharp. “Brandon’ll show you.”
With that, he walked away, leaving me blinking after him in the dust.
“He does that to everyone, you know,” Brandon said. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“Sorry?” I asked. I really had to start paying more attention to the other man.
“That brooding thing, where he says two dozen words all day and none of them are ‘please’ or ‘thank you,’” Brandon replied. “His daddy was the same way. Worse, even. Clint’ll perk up sometimes and give you a smile or ask about your day, but I don’t think I ever once heard his father say anything that wasn’t about sheep or supper.”
“Is his father still around the place?” I asked. If Brandon wanted to talk about Clint instead of sheep, that would be fine by me.
He made a polite after-you gesture and indicated the way to the hay barn. We started to walk over as Brandon answered my question.
“Nope. His momma passed a while back, broke everyone’s heart. Mr. Cannon died about four years ago, when Clint was twenty-seven. I was Clint’s friend back in school, and when he took over running this place he asked me to come work for him for six months. Turns out, he offered me a pretty good deal, and I don’t have any particular reason to leave yet.”
