Immediately Althea responded. “I don’t think you’d have any worries on that score. They all love you, Yasmine. They’d love to have you back home.”
There was a long pause and Holt became even more still, waiting to hear Yasmine’s response.
“Especially Holt.”
At Althea’s remark, his frown increased. Was it that obvious how interested he was in her?
“Oh, I don’t think it would matter to Holt one way or another,” she said, her voice light. It was long moments before she continued, her voice so casual, so nonchalant, had he not known her better, he would think she was brushing it off as nothing. But beneath the tone he heard a subtle nervousness to the laughter.
“Well, you’ve got a lot of options, Yasmine. That’s just one. I wanted you to know that although we’ve only just met, I would also like it if you gave it some thought. Coming home, starting your business. I would help in any way I could. We haven’t known each other long … but, well, you’re like the sister I’ve never had. I would help you in any way I could. As long as you don’t mind it being the grunt work.” She laughed. “My cooking skills are nowhere up to par with yours.” Holt heard the rustle of clothing and knew the two women had embraced.
“Thank you, Althea. That means a lot.”
He heard movement and quickly moved out of the line of vision before either one of the women knew he was there.
He wondered when, over the past few days, Yasmine had begun to think about opening a catering business and returning home.
He hadn’t heard about it from either of his brothers. From the conversation, obviously Nate knew of her plans. He wondered if Shilah knew as well, and if so, why he was left in the dark. He understood not telling Lilly, not wanting to build her expectations unless the plans were finalized, but why not tell him?
Holt waited until he heard Althea leave before making his presence known. Walking farther into the kitchen he stood watching Yasmine. From his field of vision he had a nice visual of her shapely behind, cupped sweetly in the skirt she wore as she bent over the stove.
A short-sleeved white blouse was tucked neatly into the waistband, and the ends of her apron tied in a bow near the top of her butt made him want to unwrap the pretty package she presented.
On her feet, again, she wore heels; although not as high as the ones she’d worn the day he’d picked her up from the airport, they still added definition to her already shapely legs.
She withdrew a large pan of what looked like muffins from the oven and stood back.
“I think my babies are too pretty to eat,” she said, and laughed lightly, dusting her hands down the sides of her apron as she admired her creation.
“I think I have to disagree with that,” he said as he admired her shapely backside.
“I—I didn’t see you there. When did you get here?” she said, spinning around to face him.
He ran a gaze over her body, past her small feet in the dainty little heels, past the short skirt that hugged her curvy hips to sinful perfection to the pulse banging at the hollow of her throat, before meeting her eyes.
Yes, she was definitely a sweet morsel he’d love to sink his teeth into. He grinned, walking farther into the room.
Thinking she was alone, Yasmine’s heart leaped wildly against her chest when she heard the deep baritone voice speak behind her.
As Holt sauntered toward her, his insolent stare roaming over her body, she cast a nervous glance around, realizing she was alone with him.
So, her day of reckoning had come. She’d wondered how long it would be before he’d catch her alone. She’d fooled herself into thinking he’d given up.
Late last night, restless, thinking of the many decisions facing her, she’d finally given up on sleep. Glancing at her cell phone she saw that she’d missed Clayton’s call.
That made the third one in as many days. She knew her mind should be on her career. It should be, but it wasn’t. Every time she sat down and turned to her spreadsheet with the pros and cons of each career move, a method she’d used to organize her thoughts since college days, she’d find her mind wandering, thoughts of Holt invading her mind with irritating precision.
Thinking a good bath would relax her enough so she could get some rest, she’d grabbed her toiletry bag and walked down the hallway to the bathroom.
Although fully modernized, with private baths included in the four master suites the men had added, the room she’d been given didn’t have that luxury.
When she’d spoken to Lilly after agreeing to come home, she’d assured her aunt that her old room would be fine for her to stay in. And she was glad she had.
As she’d sunk down into the claw-foot tub, hoping the Epsom salts and warm water would do their job, she’d forced everything from her mind, everything that had been crowding, taking up space, and simply relaxed. She thought of the memories associated with the room she occupied, reminding her of her time growing up at the ranch. She cherished them all. Coming to the ranch after the death of her parents, she remembered how sad, afraid and alone she’d felt. More important, she remembered how welcome everyone at Wyoming Wilde had made her feel. How they’d made her feel as if she was a part of the family.
The bath had done the job, and Yasmine felt relaxed enough to hopefully get some sleep. Gathering her clothes, she’d left the room. As it was past midnight she’d come out of the bathroom with nothing more than a towel wrapped around her body. Looking up and down the hallway, she’d seen the coast was clear and had made a mad dash for her room.
Just as she’d made it to her door, she’d felt his presence.
Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she’d slowly turned around. He stood poised at the entry to his own door, several feet down the hallway, staring at her.
Although the roles were reversed, as she was the one wearing the towel, Yasmine felt an odd sense of déjà vu.
His eyes dropped from hers and casually raked over her towel-clad body. Although all her major essentials were covered, she felt naked, exposed beneath his hot stare.
Forcing herself to break away, her gaze slid over him, as well. She took in the jeans, dirty from work, and shirt, dampened with sweat that clung to his chest, before her glance fell to his hat, held in his hand.
His hat was in his hand.
It was well past midnight, and everyone had returned home hours before.
Her jaw tightened.
Like the tomcat he was, he had just dragged himself home.
“Yasmine. I’m glad you’re up. I think we need to talk,” he’d begun, walking toward her.
Breaking the spell he seemed to cast on her with the ease of a seasoned wizard, she didn’t dignify him with an answer.
Instead she spun around and opened the door to her room. She heard his muttered curse behind her as she slammed the door shut behind her, in his face. And added insult to injury by turning the key in the lock.
She watched him now as he moved farther into the kitchen, his mere presence crowding her space and making her feel strangely claustrophobic. He was just too big, too … everything, for her peace of mind.
He drew in a deep breath. “Smells good in here. What are you cooking?” he asked, casually lifting the lids of several of the large pots she had on the stove.
“Finishing up the noontime lunch for the men,” she said, turning away from him and busying herself at the stove.
“Where’s Lilly?”
“In her room, resting,” she said, leaning down to pull out the warming dishes. “She was limping again, although she tried to hide it from me. So I made her go and rest and told her that I would take care of lunch,” she said, her voice muffled.
“That couldn’t have been an easy thing to do.” He laughed, leaning against a nearby pillar.
“No, it wasn’t. Took a fair amount of reasoning,” Yasmine said, rising and casting a look his way. She frowned when she caught his eyes glued to her back end. Purposely putting more sway to her walk than was necessary, she str
olled over to the center aisle and laid the trays down.
“And by reasoning I’m assuming you mean bullying?” Although he continued the thread of the conversation, he didn’t even have the decency to pretend as though he wasn’t eyeing her butt.
Tomcat was too mild a name for Holt Wilde.
A few more apt, choice names came to mind, ones she knew would make her aunt go old-school and wash her mouth out if she knew what Yasmine was thinking.
“Yeah, there was a lot of that, too,” Yasmine replied. “She can be obstinate, particularly when it comes to her kitchen.”
“I’m sure you’re more than woman enough and up for the challenge. Even for Miss Lilly,” he replied.
Yasmine decided to ignore his not-so-subtle flirting.
“It’s her domain. I can respect that,” she answered with a shrug. “Before she allowed me to work it alone, she gave me a list of things to do.” Yasmine nodded a head toward the sheet of paper on the counter with a laugh. “Along with a laundry list of other do’s and don’ts—” she shook her head, her smile fixed in place “—but her surgery is coming up in a few days. She finally caved. I think she knows as well that she needs to rest as much as possible. Besides, I’ve got everything under control.” She finished transferring the food from the pots into the warming pans, watching him from beneath lowered lids as he casually lifted the various lids, inhaling the aromatic scent that wafted from the steaming contents, a blissful look on his face.
Although it was barely noon, his hair was already plastered to his well-shaped head, dampened from working. The sleeves of his blue chambray work shirt were rolled up, exposing thick forearms lightly covered in a dusting of hair. The jeans he wore were old and faded, and like all the others, he wore cowboy boots, scuffed, old.
Nothing special.
But why did he look so good to her that Yasmine felt the walls of her femininity contract and release, the response one that was purely physical, feminine and out of her control. She inhaled, and even though he stood away from her, she could smell him.
His unique scent blew across her nose, overpowering the food she’d spent most of the morning preparing.
She drew in an involuntary breath. As much as she wanted to deny it, his mere presence was like an aphrodisiac, drawing her in. Intoxicating.
This was crazy, this hold he seemed to have on her, one that made being in the same room with him make her feel like a cat in heat. The more she was around him, the more the attraction seemed to grow. It didn’t matter if he was physically around her or not, as she’d not been able to go more than a few minutes without thinking about him.
When she lifted the last pot to transfer it, he took it from her hands, finishing the tasks for her. “Let me do that. Isn’t Lilly supposed to have someone in here, helping? I thought Nate hired someone from town.”
Yasmine stood back, allowing him to finish the task, admiring the way his muscles lightly bunched and flexed as he effortlessly handled the heavy pots.
“He did. Usually he comes in around this time to help out. I’m not sure what happened to this one. Aunt Lilly says when she gets back she’s taking over hiring someone to help out. The ones Nate picks never seem to work out.”
After he finished he turned to her. “Well, until she does, consider me your sous-chef,” he said, bowing at the waist. “Your wish is my command.”
Yasmine tried not to allow his charming banter, something that came as easy to him as breathing was to other men, to affect her.
She tried.
But it didn’t do much good. The ends of her mouth quirked up in a grin she tried to suppress.
“What? Did I use the wrong term?” he asked, frowning. “I’m just a dumb cowboy. I don’t know much about you city folks and your highbrow way of life.”
“Oh, whatever.” She laughed outright. “Don’t even try it with me, Holt Magnum Wilde!” she quipped, knowing how much he disliked his middle name. “I happen to know that not only did you get your bachelor’s degree but that you also managed to finish your master’s while playing for the NFL,” she finished smugly, and immediately wanted to bite out her own tongue.
He slowly advanced on her, the sexy grin on his face widening. “So … you’ve been keeping tabs on me Yasmine Nicole Taylor.” It was a statement more than a question. Tit for tat.
“No more so than you have of me,” she volleyed back.
His lips quirked sexily, the small dimple near the corner of his mouth deepening.
“Touché,” he said, laughing. “Guilty as charged.” He shrugged his big shoulders. He’d been steadily advancing on her. The closer he got, the more she retreated, until she came to a stop when her back brushed up against the refrigerator door.
He stopped in front of her, his body close to hers. He ran his finger softly down the side of her face, a strange look on his. “That I have. What can I say? You’ve got me fascinated. You have for a long time.”
“And why is that?” She looked up at him. “Nothing about me is all that interesting. Nothing like the women you’re used to … being around.”
Just as quickly as their banter began, it ended, the energy between them becoming charged with a subtle sensuality that was as sudden as it was intense.
She swallowed and turned away from his intent stare.
When she would have moved out of reach, both of his arms came out to bracket her body, effectively caging her in.
“None of them can hold a candle to you, Yas,” he said, his voice low, forcing her to look at him by placing a finger beneath her chin.
Yasmine drew in a deep breath. As she looked up into his eyes, images of the kiss they shared, the way he’d wrapped her in his big arms, made goose bumps break out over her exposed arms.
He drew closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and smoothly pulling her body closer to his. Unable to move, she stood within his embrace, waiting.
“Why did you run from me, Yas?” he asked.
His question was like ice water being dumped over her head, dragging her out of the sensual web he’d created.
She placed her hands against his chest and shoved. Catching him off guard, she pushed away from him.
“What is it, Holt? One woman not enough for you? Don’t you get tired of playing the role?” Yasmine spun and faced him.
“What role?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face. “What are you talking about?”
Yasmine felt resurging anger as she thought of the woman who’d interrupted them that night in the shed, as well as the after-midnight … booty call … she’d caught him returning from last night. It was probably the same woman.
Or maybe not. Her lips curled. “Penthouse,” as he’d been called, had a reputation for having several women at his beck and call at any given notice.
“The whole Casanova thing. Remember your girlfriend? The one from Saturday? What was her name?” she asked, frowning. “Was she the same one you came home from last night? Maybe it was a different one. I heard one is never enough for Penthouse,” she said, drawling out the nickname.
“Don’t call me that,” he bit out, his features pinched, his jaw tightening in anger.
“Why, Holt? Truth hurts?”
The anger dropped from his face, replaced by a grin. Warily she eyed him.
“You’re jealous.”
“Not even on your best day,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “And that little look of yours?” She shook her head. “That is so not working for me.”
He moved closer again, oblivious to her feigned nonchalance. “What look? The look of a man who knows what he wants?”
When she found herself in the same spot she’d been in moments before, backed up against the refrigerator, him closing in on her, she raised a hand. As though that would make him stop.
“No, the look of a tomcat on the prowl.”
Her words had no effect on him this time, nor did her resistance. If anything, they made him bolder.
She swallowed, forcing herself to stand
her ground, refusing to show him just how much his words affected her.
He didn’t stop until their bodies brushed against each other, her breasts pressed intimately against the top of his stomach.
He brought his finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. “No, baby,” he said, his voice low, his bright blue eyes gleaming. “That’s not what this look is. This is the look of a man who knows what he wants.”
Everything grew still, including the very air around them. She saw his eyes run over her face until they focused on her lips.
She opened her mouth to give a swift rebuttal but promptly shut it.
Both her mouth and lips felt like cotton, they were so dry. She ran a tongue over them, and before she realized his intent, he swooped down and captured her tongue between his teeth.
She moaned, all of her righteous anger going up in smoke the minute their mouths met.
He cupped the back of her head, aligning their mouths with one hand. The other he used to cup her bottom, bringing her tightly against him, and Yasmine sank into the kiss.
Gently, as though not to scare her, he pried her mouth open and pressed his tongue deep inside. His mouth was hard yet yielding, soft yet firm. Perfect.
After long moments when he simply kissed her, he released her mouth to rain kisses down the line of her throat, his wicked tongue lapping between the seam of her breasts, and Yasmine cried out softly.
Retracing his path, his tongue flickered out to dart and caress its way back, until he reached the corner of her mouth.
“So sweet,” he murmured, before stroking his tongue over the seam of her mouth.
On fire, hungry for his tongue, his mouth, his touch, Yasmine rose on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer.
His hand moved from the back of her neck, his roughened, callused palms sliding over the skin of her throat, making her body arch sharply, before cupping one of her breasts. She sighed into his mouth when he ran his thumb over her nipple.
To Love a Wilde Page 7
