Trouble in High Heels

by Leanne Banks

  She took another bite of her apple and smiled. Who cared? Slowing down as she approached the barn, she walked inside and found it dark and quiet. Jackson didn’t appear to be here. Brushing off a twinge of disappointment, she took a few more steps and the tight feeling in her shoulders eased.

  “I wondered if you were going to come,” Jackson said from behind her.

  Startled, Lori stifled a shriek and whirled around, breathless. “Did you have to scare me half to death?” she whispered. “Is it too much to ask you to give me a little warning if you’re going to come up behind me in the dark?”

  “Sorry,” he said, but his tone said he was much more amused than apologetic.

  She took a deep breath, then another, then turned away from him. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Looks like you dropped your apple,” he said.

  “Good thing I brought another one,” she said, glancing inside each stall at the resting horses. She already knew who would be awake.

  “Is that for me?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “It’s for Rowdy.” She stopped for a moment and listened. Sure enough, she heard the horse’s steps at the other end of the barn. Smiling, she walked toward his stall.

  “You’re getting more brave all the time,” he said. “Soon enough, you’ll be ready to ride.”

  A shiver of fear immediately rushed through her. “Ha, ha. Feeding is one thing. Riding is another.”

  “When do you think you’ll be ready?”

  “I don’t know. No time soon,” she said and turned to face him. “What’s it to you?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I think that if you got so much pleasure from riding before, it would be good if you could do it again.”

  “Except I don’t get pleasure from it anymore.”

  “You don’t know that, do you?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth, then shut it. “I know I break into a cold sweat just thinking about getting back on a horse again. For now, my riding days are over.”

  “Unless you decide differently,” he said.

  “What do you mean decide something differently? You think I’m overreacting. You think I’m a wuss, don’t you? You try breaking your pelvis and legs and doing a year of therapy and we’ll talk, okay?” She turned away, resenting Jackson because he was destroying her Zen experience in the barn.

  His hand on her shoulder stopped her. “I didn’t say that. I don’t think you’re a wuss. I think you’re brave to come within a few feet of horses. This may sound crazy, but I’d like to help you.”

  A sensation of warmth slid through her, and she met his gaze. “Why?”

  “Glutton for punishment, I guess,” he said with a crooked grin.

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, thanks, but I’m just offering Rowdy an apple tonight.” She walked to his stall and the gelding came over to gawk at her. He nodded and dipped his head as if to greet her.

  “He’s flirting with you,” Jackson said from behind her.

  “How do you know that? Are you a horse whisperer?”

  “It’s a guy thing,” he said. “We just know. There’s a pretty woman around and one guy is going to try to hog her attention. That’s what Rowdy is trying to do.”

  “He’s so gorgeous,” she said, admiring his silky coat.

  “And he’s succeeding,” Jackson continued in a dry tone.

  “He just smells my apple and wants it,” she said.

  “I could say something about your apple-”

  “But you won’t,” she said and put the apple on her flat hand and gingerly lifted it toward Rowdy. He scarfed it into his mouth in a flash. She felt a crazy little rush of triumph. She’d done it on her own, and she was sweating only a little bit.

  “I did it again,” she said to Jackson. “It wasn’t a fluke.”

  “Yeah, you did,” he said, meeting her gaze. “You sure you don’t want to pet him?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “One step at a time.” She looked at Rowdy for a moment, but Jackson ’s gaze on her made her feel strange. Avoiding his gaze, she backed away. “I guess I should go. G-”

  She felt his hand close over hers and gently tug her toward him. For some reason, she allowed it. She would have to think about just why later. Some part of her craved the sensation of his touch. She would love to feel the strength of his chest against her back. She would love to feel more.

  “You’re different here,” he said in a low voice as he rubbed his thumb on the underside of her wrist. “On the ranch.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, catching just a hint of his scent. “It’s easier. I don’t feel pulled in so many different directions. I still want to fix things, but a lot of it is so basic. Clean cabins, muck out stalls.” She gave a breathless laugh. “Even I can do that.”

  He turned her around to face him, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. She didn’t want him to see how much he affected her. Smiling, she lifted one of her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Are you saying you like my new barn manicure? Didn’t you know it’s the latest trend?”

  Jackson looked down at her and couldn’t keep from smiling, too. He glanced at her small hand, which was already growing a couple of calluses. “What would your friends back in Dallas say?”

  “One more thing I don’t have to worry about,” she said.

  “Why do you need to be the one to fix everything?”

  “You’re my accountant. You know why. Because I’ve got gobs of money, so I need to use it to make things better.”

  “But why you? Why not other people? For that matter, most people with gobs of money sure as hell don’t give it away like you do.”

  “Maybe they feel like they deserve it,” she said.

  He looked into her eyes and saw something he hadn’t glimpsed before. “You really don’t feel like you deserve it?” he said.

  “Why should I have things easy when other people have them so hard? What did I do to deserve to live like a princess? Nothing. So I got the sperm jackpot when it came to my father. How is that fair?”

  “You feel guilty,” he said, the realization hitting him. “This is all about your guilt. How much are you going to have to give away to appease the guilt monster?” He shook his head. “Lord, you’re even willing to marry someone you don’t love.”

  She pulled her hand away and glowered at him. “Well, thank you very much, Dr. Jackson, amateur shrink, for that lovely analysis. I came down to the barn to feel better, to maybe even be able to sleep when I went back to bed, but you’ve totally ruined that.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just hadn’t realized you were so motivated by guilt, and it’s guilt for no reason.”

  “Again, thanks for nothing,” she said as she turned away.

  Feeling a slice of his own guilt, he followed after her. “Wait a minute. I can turn this around.”

  “You already did,” she said.

  He reached for her shoulder. “Come on. Give me a chance.”

  She stopped, although he could tell she didn’t want to, and shot him a dark glance. “Why should I?”

  “Because I promise I’ll make you feel different,” he said.

  She paused, then let out a sigh. “Not the best sell I’ve ever heard,” she said.

  “And you know I don’t promise what I can’t deliver,” he told her.

  She moved her head in a circle. “Okay. I’ll give you five minutes.”

  “Deal.” He took her hand and led her back toward Rowdy’s stall.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. “Why are we-”

  “Just do what I tell you, and I promise you’ll feel different.”

  She slowed her steps. “I’m not sure I’m going to like this.”

  “You will,” he said firmly, tugging her the last few steps to Rowdy’s stall. The gelding immediately walked to greet them. “See how happy he is to see you?”

  “Because I give him treats,” she said.

  “He’s like most men. They all want your treats
, one way or another,” Jackson said, his own gaze straying to her curves. “You have a lot of treats.”

  She shot him a wary glance. “Careful, that was almost a compliment.”

  He pulled a lump of sugar from his pocket. “I want you to give this to him,” he said.

  “I did that last night. And tonight I gave him an apple.”

  “I know, but then I want you to do something else.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to stroke him.”

  She bit her lip. “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because it’s important to you,” he said. “I can tell that it is, and I can help you if you let me.”

  “You sound pretty confident,” she said.

  “I told you before I don’t promise what I can’t deliver.” He lifted her hand and put the sugar cube on her palm. “Give it to him, then pet him.”

  She bit her lip again but slid her hand toward the horse. Rowdy immediately took his treat. Then Jackson lifted her hand to the horse’s neck, guiding her to rub him. Rowdy responded like a gentleman.

  “Look. He’s wiggling his nose,” Jackson said, liking the way her hand felt within his. “He likes it.”

  She gave a soft half laugh and rubbed the horse on her own. “I think he does.” She stroked Rowdy a couple times more, then slowly moved backward, which put the back of her body against his.

  Jackson felt an overwhelming urge to slide his hands around her belly and bury his face in her hair. It wasn’t rational. In fact, if he went through with it, it would be as stupid as hell. He burned with curiosity about how she would respond. Depending on her mood, she could slap him or give in to whatever it was that shimmered between them.

  She turned around and looked into his eyes. “Thanks,” she said and lifted on tiptoe to skim her lips over his cheek.

  The breezy kiss made his gut knot. The little caress was her way of saying, Thanks, but don’t count on getting too close. It got under his skin enough that he gave in to an impulse. He reached for her hand and pulled her back.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “What-”

  “I promised I would make you feel different,” he said, pulling her closer.

  “You did,” she conceded.

  “That was step one,” he said and lowered his head. “This is step two.” He pressed his mouth against her soft, puffy lips and immediately felt himself grow hard.

  She opened her mouth as if she couldn’t decide to quit or continue, and he made the choice for her when he slid his tongue past her lips. He felt her body stiffen in an instant of surprise, but then she slid her hands around his shoulders, pressed her breasts into his chest, and lured his tongue deeper into her mouth.

  She rubbed her curvy female body against his, and it was all he could do not to rip off her clothes and nail her against the wall of the barn. The force of the primitive urge took his breath.

  Sliding his hands low on her back, he pulled her against his aching crotch and slid his tongue over hers. He felt her tug his shirt loose and rub her hands over his bare abdomen, and the temperature in the barn rose exponentially.

  Jackson sucked in a quick draft of air and pulled his mouth from hers, swearing under his breath. He stared into her eyes, dark with arousal, and swore again.

  She licked her lips as she gasped for her own breath, and she might as well have stroked him intimately with her pink tongue. “If that was step two, what is step three?”

  “There is no step three,” he said, more for himself than for her. “You are a client. There shouldn’t have been step two.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not just a client to you.”

  “That’s right. You’re the key to a promotion and a bonus, and you’re a pain in the ass.”

  She glanced away, but not before he glimpsed a flash of hurt in her eyes. Then she lifted her chin, and her gaze trailed down the front of him, lingering on his crotch before she met his gaze. “Your ass isn’t what’s going to be hurting tonight. Enjoy your cold shower,” she said and walked out of the barn.

  Jackson was left with the tempting, taunting image of her round ass and a hard-on that showed no signs of quitting.

  Geoffrey dutifully helped Lori clean the cabins the next morning. When she went to clean the stalls, he wandered to the corral and watched Maria finishing up the morning session with horse therapy. She was firm with the horses, yet gentle and encouraging with the children.

  One young girl kept reaching to touch Maria’s long wavy hair. Maria picked her up and set her on her hip, allowing the girl to play with her hair. She was so beautiful she took Geoffrey’s breath away.

  There was something wild and wounded about her that stirred him. He wondered what her story was, why she seemed to carry a chip on her shoulder, what kind of men she’d had in her past. There had to be dozens who’d tried to get her affection.

  That body, that fire, could drive a man to do something reckless. As if she knew he was watching her, she glanced up at him. She met his gaze for a searing few seconds, then glanced away as if dismissing him.

  She may as well have thrown down a gauntlet. Her dismissal was a challenge. He would love to take her up on it. Closing his eyes, he thought of his family obligation. No matter how tempting Maria was, he had to stick to the plan. Lori Granger was the woman who could save his family. Not Maria.

  That afternoon, however, Geoffrey wasn’t sure how it happened, but Virginia assigned him the task of helping Maria in the kitchen. Lori had left to go grocery shopping with Virginia.

  Maria sighed and shook her head. She muttered in Spanish for several moments as she chopped a whole chicken into pieces. Although he didn’t understand the words, her tone was unmistakable.

  “Pardon me, but if you’re going to insult me, would you please do so in a language I can understand so I can at least defend myself?”

  She chopped off a chicken leg and met his gaze. “I was talking to myself, but if you must know, I was saying it was stupid to pretend that you would actually help me in the kitchen.”

  “Why is that stupid?”

  “You know how to cook?”

  He knew how to use a microwave, a toaster, and a teapot. “I’ve spent some time in the kitchen. Why don’t you give me a try?”

  She gave him a considering glance. “Okay.” She went to the cupboard, pulled out two large onions, and gave him a knife. “I need these diced.”

  Geoffrey shrugged. “Right-o. Where’s the food processor?”

  Maria smiled. “You are the food processor.”

  Geoffrey faced the task like a man-more importantly, an Englishman. Englishmen didn’t cry, and he was bloody well determined not to cry.

  After he finished the first onion, his nose started to run, so he began to breathe through his mouth. As he completed the last of his slicing and dicing, he triumphantly offered Maria the spoils of his victory. A pile of diced onion.

  She lifted a dark eyebrow. “Bueno,” she said. “I’m surprised.”

  “No need to be,” he said. “I told you I’m quite handy in the kitchen.”

  Maria pulled two more huge onions from the cupboard. “Then you won’t mind dicing a couple more.”

  With the stiff upper lip bred into him, Geoffrey sliced and diced the second two onions. This time, however, he decided to take advantage of the opportunity to indulge his curiosity about Maria.

  “You’re not married, are you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Do you have a lover or a boyfriend?” he asked. “Or several?”

  She frowned at him. “That’s none of your business.”

  “That must mean you have a dozen lovers but you don’t like to show off.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes widened in surprise. “I do not-”

  “Aha,” he said, continuing to chop and dice. “But you could have.”

  “Not around here,” she said. “There aren’t a lot of men around.” She shrugged as she placed chicken parts into a cassero
le dish. “It’s probably for the best. Men aren’t dependable.”

  He blinked. “That’s a bit of a global generalization, wouldn’t you say? Surely some men are dependable.”

  “Very few,” she said.

  “That you’ve met,” he corrected. “Have you always lived in Texas?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  She shrugged again. “I know nothing else. I know I like Virginia ’s ranch much better than my father’s house.”

  Geoffrey studied her expression and felt an uneasiness about the way her voice lowered when she mentioned her father’s house.

  He paused for a long moment. “He was abusive to you,” he said.

  She didn’t look up at him. “Yes. He gave me the scar.”

  He looked at the jagged scar that ran from her cheek nearly to her jaw. “This may sound crazy, but I don’t notice the scar unless you mention it.”

  That must have gotten her attention, because she glanced up to meet his gaze. “How can you not notice it?”

  His lips twitched. “You have so many other things to look at.”

  She gave him a hard look, then glanced away. “You lie.”

  “I do not,” he said, unable to keep indignation from his voice.

  She met his gaze again. “It’s impossible not to notice my scar. It covers half my face.”

  “It depends what you’re focusing on,” he said, setting down his knife. “Take your hair, for example.”

  “What about my hair?”

  “It’s long and beautiful, wavy. I wonder how it would feel in my hands. I wonder how it smells.”

  She gave him a half glance of flashing eyes before looking away. “It smells like onions and chicken.”

  He chuckled. “Then there are your eyes, so dark, full of secrets. You have many other very watchable-” He cleared his throat as his gaze wandered to her breasts and hips. “Attributes.”

  She met his eyes, and her lips tilted in a reluctant smile. “You are a strange man. Are you finished with the onions?”

  “Two more minutes,” he said and quickly finished the task. He offered her the pile. “Don’t tell me you have more for me to do.”