He grinned up at her. “I know, but it sure will be fun.”
She felt herself blush as she followed his orders, trying her best to appear graceful as well as competent. But when she started to hop to the ground, she felt his hands once again at her waist, lowering her slowly. Down his body. Down his hard, lean, muscular body. Slowly.
Down his aroused body.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered, her legs weak and shaking as she felt his warm breath on her neck.
“Ready for some skinny-dippin’?” he whispered in her ear. “Or would you like some of that wine first?”
Chapter Nine
The remainder of Hank’s good intentions disappeared once Wendy’s round little bottom was pressed against his zipper. How was he supposed to resist that? Or the breathy sounds she unconsciously made? Or the soft, feminine way she smelled even when she was out riding horses in ninety-degree heat?
“I believe I’d like a bite to eat,” she said softly, interrupting his one-track mind.
“Then that’s what we’ll do…first,” he said, reluctantly pulling away before he made a fool of himself by walking her up against that tree, spinning her around and having his wicked way with her.
She untied one side of the saddle roll while he walked around and released the other. Taking the bundle in one arm, he held out his hand. “The horses will be fine here. Come on.”
She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead them through the grove of live oaks, over the fence that had been bent down from years of abuse—mostly by him—and toward the small pond. The day was perfect for viewing one of his favorite spots in the world, with slanting rays of sunlight filtered through the small live oak leaves, rippling across the still surface of the water. Birds called in the surrounding hills, but here the world consisted of the two of them.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said with awe. “But who owns this property? Are we going to be in trouble?”
Hank chuckled. “No, we aren’t in any trouble. My friend Travis Whittaker owns this piece of land, much to my disappointment. I’ve been tryin’ to buy it from him for years.”
“I’m sure he loves it here, too.”
“Not as much as I do. At least, I never see him diving into the cold water on a hot summer day.”
She looked at him as though she were trying to figure out whether he was joking—and if he wasn’t, what he’d look like taking the plunge into the cold water. Playing up what he hoped were some naughty thoughts, he raised his eyebrow and leered. Wendy immediately blushed and looked away, making him smile as he led them closer to the water.
“This little pond is fed by the Edwards Aquifer that’s underneath the entire Hill Country. It trickles out into a little stream that eventually empties into the Guadalupe River.”
“Is it cold?”
“Compared to a Texas summer, yes. I think it’s refreshin’, but I’m used to swimmin’ here.”
“I may try it later.”
“Darlin’, I sure hope so.”
Wendy frowned at him. “Must you do that constantly?”
“What?”
“Flirt outrageously. Make suggestive comments.”
“That’s just my nature.”
Wendy crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think so. At first I assumed you simply had no regard for women other than as sexual objects, but now that I know you slightly better, I don’t believe that’s the case.”
“Are you psychoanalyzing me? Because I can tell you right now that’s not a good idea. I’m just a simple Texas cowboy. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Bull,” she surprised him by stating. “You are no more simple than I am rich.”
“Well now, I’m not sure about the size of your bank account, but—”
“Don’t BS me, Hank. You are far more than a simple Texas cowboy, although for some reason you try awfully hard to make people think you are ill-educated, financially challenged and sexually proficient.”
“Hey, I am sexually proficient!”
“Exactly my point!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
“What do you expect me to do, tell you I’m inept in the bedroom? Lady, that’s not the case.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you were inept, just that you probably haven’t had nearly as many partners as you’d like everyone to imagine.”
“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said, getting angry that she questioned his integrity. Dammit, he’d been mostly honest with her, especially about the things that really mattered.
“So you don’t challenge my other observations?”
“I think you’re light-headed from not eating dinner, and because I failed to feed you, I take full responsibility.”
“Hank,” she said, placing a cool hand on one of his folded arms, “I’m not light-headed. I’d simply like to get to know you better.”
He unfolded his arms. “For how long?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re gonna be out of here as fast as possible as soon as the prince shows up. That might be tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. How well do you expect to know me by then? And why? What reason could you have for psychoanalyzing this Texas cowboy that you’re never gonna see again?”
She pulled her hand back and turned away. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He almost went to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her against his body. But that would be stupid. He didn’t want her peering inside his head or trying to figure out his heart. Some things a man needed to keep private, and his feelings were on the top of the list.
“Let’s eat,” he said instead, hunkering down and unrolling the afghan. The wine, cheese and crackers tumbled out.
Wendy helped him straighten their makeshift picnic blanket, then spread out the two towels to sit on. As the birds chirped overhead and insects buzzed, they ate in silence. Hank wanted to make some witty comments, but couldn’t think of a thing to say. Wendy watched him but didn’t try to delve any deeper into his psyche. Thank goodness.
Although he began to get a little irritated that she didn’t try harder to figure him out. Just because he didn’t want her to be so nosy didn’t mean she should just stop asking her silly questions.
“Did you grow up around here?” she finally asked.
Well, at least she was being nosy again. “Yeah. My father ran a few cattle and had an insurance agency. My mother taught school—junior high.”
“Oh? What subject?”
“English.”
Lady Wendy smiled, then laughed. “How adorable!”
Hank shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
“You made me believe you were this old-fashioned Texas cowboy, as though you lived in nearly primitive conditions, and yet you come from a quite ordinary—or should I say middle-class—background.”
“We did okay, I suppose.”
“I can see now why education was so important to your mother,” Wendy said, placing a small chunk of cheese on a cracker. “She wanted you to have a degree to fall back upon, after your rodeo days, I imagine.”
“Yeah, and my father made me invest my money,” he grumbled. At the time he’d thought his father was being “ridiculous,” as Lady Wendy would say, but now he was glad he’d listened. When he’d wanted to start his ranch, he’d had enough money to make it a first-class operation without being in debt to the bank too much.
“Do your parents still live around here?”
“They moved to the valley—down on the gulf coast—when they retired a few years ago.”
“At least they didn’t turn their home into a bed-and-breakfast inn,” Wendy grumbled.
Hank chuckled, then watched her search the afghan. “What did you lose?”
“I seem to have forgotten the wineglasses.”
He shrugged. “I’m willing to share the bottle if you are.”
“Oh, that’s all right.”
“Come on, don’t be shy. I
don’t have any germs you haven’t already sampled.”
“It’s not that—”
“Then there’s no problem. Out here in the middle of nowhere, there’s not a protocol expert or society matron who’s gonna rap our knuckles for not drinkin’ from the proper glass.”
Wendy smiled. “Oh, very well. I was looking forward to a sip of wine.”
He applied the corkscrew after peeling away the covering with his pocketknife. Within a minute he handed the bottle to Lady Wendy. “After you.”
“I’d make a toast, but we can hardly clink glasses.”
He propped his forearm on his bent knee. “If you were gonna make a toast, what would it be?”
She traced the label with a fingernail, obviously contemplating his question. Then she looked up and raised the bottle. “To a gracious host and a wonderful visit to the heart of Texas.”
Hank smiled and nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”
Wendy took a sip, then handed him the bottle. He watched her eyes as he drank, imagining that he was tasting her, not the crisp Riesling.
“I’d like to propose a toast, too,” he said.
She tilted her head and smiled.
“To a true lady who knows more than etiquette and public relations, and who can teach new tricks to even this old dog.”
She shook her head and laughed. “I absolutely will not drink to that silly toast. You are certainly no old dog.”
“Well, I’m drinkin’ to the part about you bein’ a true lady,” Hank replied with a grin.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the bottle. “At this rate, I will be a very tipsy lady.” That didn’t stop her from upending the wine for a long sip.
“A nice swim in the cool water will sober you up.”
She smiled. “Perhaps.”
“Have a few more drinks of wine and maybe I’ll convince you to take off that bathing suit.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. McCauley.”
“Darlin’, haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘he could charm the birds out of the trees’? Well, at the moment, I’m more interested in getting you out of those clothes and into the water.”
THE COOL WATER BECKONED, and in the end, Gwendolyn couldn’t resist agreeing to sink into the depths of the spring-fed pool—wearing her modest bathing suit, of course. She knew she was more out of her depth with the man beside her than she would be in the clear water.
“After you,” Hank said, reclining on the towel and afghan like an omnipotent sultan.
“I’ll just slip behind the trees, then,” Gwendolyn said, gathering her own towel. She was unwilling to strip in front of him, although he held a much more liberal view of nudity. Or, in this case, bathing suit etiquette. Perhaps, she thought with a giggle, she should have given him a lesson on that subject.
“Something funny, Lady Wendy?”
“Nothing I care to share, Mr. McCauley,” she said brightly, hurrying toward the dubious shelter of trees to slip out of her jeans and shirt. Perhaps she had swallowed too many sips of wine, although she doubted that possibility. She was always careful with alcoholic drinks—except, she remembered with a frown, when Hank coerced her into drinking more than she’d planned, like that night on the Riverwalk.
Gwendolyn sighed as she reached for the snap on her jeans. She wasn’t tipsy, unless her very palpable reaction to Hank could be considered intoxication. Even without his constant teasing and flirting, he made her senses swim. Perhaps a chilly dip in the natural pool would cool her off.
A few minutes later, when she walked to the edge of the water, she revised her opinion. Hank McCauley, stripped practically bare and dripping wet, caused a flood of heat that had nothing to do with the Texas weather.
“The water’s cool, but it feels good,” he said, sluicing drops from his body with long sweeps of his hands.
I could do that for you. The thought popped into her head quite unexpectedly…and was, she told herself, unwelcome. Except that her body didn’t agree.
He wore a pair of faded blue swim trunks that molded to his lean hips and barely covered the tops of his thighs. The elastic sagged so low he appeared in imminent danger of revealing too much of his lower abdomen, where the hair on his chest arrowed down past his navel. Her fingers itched to trace the path, so she curled her hands into fists and stood shivering in the Texas heat.
She tore her gaze away from his wonderful body—all long, lean muscle and golden skin—to the pool. “It looks fabulous.”
He chuckled as he walked closer. Her panic increased. She wasn’t wearing enough clothing. A thin layer of nylon and spandex couldn’t protect her from his hot eyes and roving hands. A state the size of Texas couldn’t protect him from her wayward thoughts.
“Jump right in, Lady Wendy. It’s not too deep.”
Oh, yes it is. I’m in way over my head, she thought as she stood on the edge of a limestone ledge and prepared to jump. To diffuse the situation, she made a snap decision.
Taking a few steps back, she made a short run at the water, rolled her body into a ball and hit the water with a shockingly cold splash. Icy water invaded her bathing suit as she sank below the surface. If she hadn’t been concentrating on keeping her mouth shut, she would have gasped at the frigid temperature.
She kicked to the surface, opening her eyes to search for Hank. As soon as she gulped in air, he landed beside her in an even greater splash than the one she’d created.
She treaded water as she waited for him to surface. A wiser move would be to swim away, but she seemed anchored to the spot.
Hank shot out of the water, shaking his head like a wet puppy and laughing breathlessly. “Where did you learn to do a cannonball?”
“Prince Alexi taught me. He learned it while he lived in Boston.”
“You surprised me again. Who would have thought a proper English lady could make such a big splash?”
“It was a very proper splash,” she said with a cheeky grin.
Hank laughed as he moved ever so much closer, treading water. His fingertips brushed her arm as he moved effortlessly. Heat immediately shot down her body.
“So do you like my swimming hole?”
“Very much,” she replied, still sounding out of breath.
“I’m glad.” His own voice had turned husky, which caused her to burn even hotter.
“So—”
“Well—”
They laughed together, but then grew quiet, as though neither one could remember what to say. Gwendolyn knew she was incapable of coherent thought. Her whole mind filled with sensations—cold water, and a hot, vivid imagination.
As if he read her mind, Hank bobbed closer, pulling her into his arms. Her pebbled nipples brushed his chest first, shocking her with the sensitive touch. Oh, how wonderful he felt. He was warm and hard, all those glorious muscles and wonderful bone structure suspended in the water for her to explore.
Her hands drifted from his shoulders to his arms, then back again to loop around his neck. He watched her, his hooded blue eyes hot and unblinking. With a sigh, she parted her lips and pressed her mouth against the spot where his jaw and neck met.
Hank gasped and pulled her tight, his legs moving against hers. They seemed at odds, treading first together, then at different rhythms, until they sank lower in the water.
“As much as I’m enjoying this,” he whispered hoarsely, “I think it’s time to get out of the pool.”
“I think you’re right,” Gwendolyn answered, running her fingers through his thick, wet hair.
She pulled herself away and swam to a low rock, feeling him beside and slightly behind her. She also knew he watched her hoist herself out of the water. Those hours on the StairMaster in the royal workout center paid off, because she knew her thighs and bottom were firm enough to keep from embarrassing herself in the revealing position.
She didn’t wait for Hank, but ran on shaking legs to their picnic spot. Grabbing a towel, she hugged it around herself and waited for him to join her.
/> She had only a short wait. Hank stalked toward her, his feelings clearly revealed for the first time on his expressive face. He wanted her. He was going to have her. Right here, right now, in this shady glade beside the icy pool beneath the wide-open skies of Texas.
The thought thrilled her. At the same time, she felt vulnerable again, shivering despite the heat.
“You’re cold,” he said as he took her in his arms and pressed her tight. He was hot, aroused. She gasped as he molded his hands over her bottom and pulled her against him until only a few millimeters of wet nylon separated them. Her towel fell to the ground.
“Hank,” she whispered.
Her took her parted lips in a kiss that left her head spinning. His tongue eased inside, coaxing a response she was thrilled to give. His kiss was earthy, open and demanding, just like the man himself.
Gasping for air, she broke away and pressed her lips to his shoulder, kissing him, scoring him lightly with her teeth. He groaned and held her tighter, so tight she could barely breathe.
“You don’t kiss like a proper English lady,” he murmured into her wet hair. His breath teased her neck and she turned toward him.
“And how would you know? Have you kissed many English ladies?”
“Just one, but she’s been driving me crazy for the past few days.”
“I believe we’ve been driving each other crazy,” Gwendolyn corrected him, snuggling closer. Oh, he felt so good against her skin that she could only imagine how overwhelming the sensations would be if her bathing suit and his trunks didn’t separate them. Could she survive the feelings? She entirely hoped so, because she wanted to feel skin against skin, breath to breath, body to body, until nothing separated them.
He took her lips in another heart-pounding kiss that left her light-headed with longing. She rose up on tiptoes to rub against him, running her fingers through his wet hair as he angled his head to deepen the kiss.
“Let me make love to you,” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes,” she whispered, wanting to be with him more than anything else. Wanting to lose herself in the power of his passion, the charisma of his personality.
He untangled her arms from around his neck and urged her down. Her trembling legs complied as she lowered herself to the afghan. For a moment, Hank loomed over her, giving her a feminine thrill she’d never experienced before. He was so very male that her breath caught.
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