A Man of her Own

by Jan Scarbrough

  Lane recognized a teasing note in her voice. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a response other than a terse, “Help yourself.”

  The sous chef returned and picked up another tray of tarts, but he was moving too leisurely for Lane’s liking. Exercising his authority, Lane lowered his notorious “evil-eye,” and the nervous youngster almost snapped to attention before returning to the pantry where the freezer was located.

  Sarah slid onto a kitchen barstool. “I just couldn’t make myself get out of bed this morning,” she cooed. “I don’t know why I was so tired.”

  He made his voice conversational. “Probably too much exercise yesterday.”

  “That wasn’t it. I just couldn’t fall asleep last night.”

  He could relate. “Too much on your mind?”

  Their pointless conversation skidded to an abrupt halt as their gazes collided. Lane drew another deep breath.

  With her elbows on the counter, Sarah leaned forward over the bowl of ripe strawberries. The very mounds of flesh that had tormented his dreams unfurled before him. The satiny material of the tank top barely hid the full swell of her breasts and the taunting peaks of her nipples.

  Damn she was hot! Just as hot as he was under the constricting cotton coat.

  Why was she dressed like that? Didn’t she know he was as sex-deprived as that gelded horse she’d ridden yesterday? Didn’t she know how dangerous her behavior was around a hot-blooded man?

  Sarah picked up a lush, red strawberry and brought it to her lips. Her pink tongue darted out of her mouth and licked the berry as if caressing it. Her seductive gaze locked with his again. To his astonishment, she pursed her lips and sucked the fruit into her mouth, holding it almost tenderly until she slowly bit it in two.

  Lane’s eyes widened as he watched her chew and swallow. The second half of the strawberry followed just as languidly. It was like watching her with a lover. Thankfully, the counter hid his reaction.

  “Umm, that was good.”

  What was going on here? Why had she transformed herself from the prim Sarah of yesterday into this sexy vixen? The behavior of this brazen temptress belonged in the bar. Not in Amelia’s kitchen with the impressionable sous chef so near.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Eating breakfast.” She shrugged and plucked another strawberry from the bowl.

  “That’s not what I mean! Why are you dressed like that?”

  Sarah popped the berry into her well-defined mouth. “Like what?”

  He was hard as a rock, and she was looking at him in all innocence. “You know, in that skimpy top.”

  “It’s supposed to be hot today.”

  Lane didn’t accept her evasion. “The top you’re wearing is not decent for a girl like you.”

  “You don’t think it’s proper to be comfortable?” Sarah’s reply was a throaty murmur. “Or do you have another problem with me?”

  Problem? Hell on wheels! His problem was with his own sex-bereft body and his very vivid recollection of a one-time kiss at a bar. His problem was certainly not something as noble as he pretended it to be, for awareness of Sarah—her womanly charms and mischievous smile—played havoc with his image of himself as a responsible, levelheaded adult, the role model for his younger brother and sisters.

  With the delectable curves of her creamy flesh displayed in full, glorious view for him to enjoy, Lane could barely think a coherent thought. Civil. Just be civil.

  “No,” he finally made himself answer. “I have no problem with you.”

  “When I had a problem with you yesterday, I mentioned it,” Sarah said.

  “You did?”

  “Opening up is good for a relationship.”

  “Relationship?” he sputtered.

  “Yes, you know. Colleagues with a worthy charity to help.”

  “Certainly.”

  “It’s so refreshing for two people to have an honest dialogue.”

  Lane wanted to do more than have a dialogue with her.

  “And so if you ever have any problem with me,” she said “you need to tell me.”

  Was she so blind that she couldn’t see what she was doing to him, draped over the kitchen counter like she was, almost falling out of her scanty top, her wavy hair caressing her shoulders? Why was she tantalizing him? Sarah was just a baby after all. Just the age of his youngest sister. Not someone he should be fantasizing about.

  “I’m glad we’ve had this little talk.” She pushed back from the counter and stood. “I feel so much better, don’t you?”

  Speechless, all Lane managed was a single nod. He watched as she placed the bowl into the refrigerator, the full, lush definition within her tight jeans making a mockery of his attempted civility.

  When she reached the door to the hall, she paused and glanced back at him. “You know, Lane, we need to get together to discuss the party.”

  “Certainly.” His vocabulary sounded like a schoolboy’s. “I was planning to see if you were available this morning.”

  “I’m available all the time.”

  Did he detect a self-satisfied twinkle in her eyes? He shoved up his sleeves.

  As the door swung shut behind her, leaving Lane to gape after her, the ache of his arousal prolonged his anger. His body was throbbing out of control. Sarah Colby was a danger to his normal reserve. His sanity. Around her he felt like a love-struck teen.

  ***

  An hour later, Lane pushed a shoulder against the library door. He carried a coffee pot in one hand. Two empty cups dangled from the crook of a finger. For a painful hour he’d given himself a hard talking to.

  Like a fool, he’d walked into this predicament when all his senses had cried out caution. Now he was stuck working with Sarah until the Derby party. Somehow he had to make the best of a bad situation.

  His eyes adjusted slowly to the bright light seeping through the library window. Squinting, he spotted Sarah huddled over a laptop, her magnificent mane of hair falling forward to hide her eyes. She concentrated on the computer screen and had not heard him enter the room.

  Given that moment to study her unobserved, he pulled in a breath that was almost a sigh. Morning sunlight saturated the windowpane behind her back, emphasizing the delicate bones of her cheeks and magnifying her fresh beauty.

  “Sarah?”

  She glanced up. Warmth sizzled through his bloodstream. Somewhere a clock ticked. The sound of his pounding heart reverberated in his ears.

  “I thought you might like some coffee,” he said in a low voice.

  “Oh, thank you.”

  Sarah swallowed, wondering if it had been such a good idea to set up this meeting. She’d barely recovered from her earlier audacious trip to the kitchen.

  Lane crossed the floor. She tucked her hands in her lap to hide their sudden quiver.

  “Would you like me to pour?”

  “Please.”

  He towered above her across Henry’s cherry desk, an imposing figure with a subdued look on his face. The intervening time she’d spent working on the computer had mellowed her mood. She no longer felt like flaunting herself so daringly.

  His heady stare bore into her, making her face grow warm. He handed her the cup, and she caught the scent of vanilla mixing with the zesty fragrance of his citrus aftershave.

  Sarah accepted the cup, a smile on her lips. “You remembered the vanilla.”

  A muscle moved along his jaw, and his eyes darkened.

  Did he mock her with that look? Her stomach knotted as she cradled the cup, welcoming the scalding feel of the china in her hands. Suddenly shy, Sarah lowered her lashes and sipped the hot brew.

  When she raised her eyes once more, she found Lane devouring her with his gaze. A tiny thrill nicked her heart. Could her little plot have worked? Surely not, for his manner remained stiff and disapproving, as if condemning her for her earlier behavior and her sexy clothes.

  She lifted her chin. “About the party plans, I need to make sure I know wha
t you’re taking care of so we don’t duplicate efforts.”

  “Certainly.” Lane sat down across the desk from her and poured himself coffee.

  Watching him take a cautious sip, Sarah hardly knew where to begin. Her heart raced like one of Henry’s thoroughbreds. She made herself concentrate on the many tasks facing them.

  Lane had been busy. In one day he’d commandeered servers from his Louisville operation for the Derby Eve party and found enough matching crystal, china and silverware in St. Louis available for rental. Not only had he revised the menu, he’d ordered the wine and liquor, placed an order from a Cincinnati firm for a white tent to set up on the front lawn, and rented tables and chairs from his connections in Atlanta. All Sarah needed to do was order flowers and keep track of the donations that arrived daily.

  “It seems as if we’re forgetting something,” she said after ticking off the “to do” list.

  “Portable toilets?” Lane leaned back in the chair, his gaze brushing her face.

  “What?”

  “Just a suggestion. Our guests have to relieve themselves somewhere.”

  “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Amelia may prefer to give them access to her house, and in that case we won’t need to worry.”

  “No, I think a few of the extra ‘facilities’ would be appropriate. You can’t have too many toilets, especially for the women.” She offered a tentative smile.

  Lane nodded his head, refusing to connect with her. “And we need to hire people to park cars and direct traffic.”

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “In my business I must prepare for all eventualities.”

  She scribbled down notes, and then picked up her cup, cradling it once more in her hands. Staring at him over the rim, she sipped the coffee, wondering about him, intrigued by his professionalism and his steady reserve.

  What more could she do to jumpstart his obvious interest, to make him act on the flicker of desire she recognized in his eyes? For the moment, she was baffled by the daunting task she’d undertaken. Trying to capture this man proved a challenge.

  Lane watched Sarah’s fine, tapered fingers caress her cup, and a deep longing slammed him. He quickly took a long drink of his cooling coffee. When he glanced up, she set down her cup and started to stretch. With leisurely movements, she raised her arms above her head, pulling tight the bodice of her tank top. Then she dropped her hands and ran her fingers through her dark, lust-inspiring curls. Lane’s pulse rate quadrupled.

  “I can’t wait to finish these account books,” she said, as if she didn’t realize his response to her simple actions. “Numbers give my brain a jolt.”

  A fine line of sweat peppered his lip. He had to get out of here. Now that their business had been handled, just sitting across from the delectable Miss Colby was unsafe. But he couldn’t leave now. Not with the noticeable tightness in his pants that he wasn’t sure his white coat could hide.

  “I can’t wait to ride this afternoon.” Sarah looked out the window. “It’s such a fine day. The humidity is lower.”

  Lane used that opportunity to jump up and head for the door. Pausing, he glanced back. The room was silent. A surprising lump of regret lodged in his throat. He wanted to say something. But what? His inability to control himself around Sarah unnerved him big-time.

  She smiled shyly.

  “I gave you a lesson a few days ago,” Lane heard himself say. “At the bar.”

  “Yes?”

  “I wondered if you’d return the favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve never been on a horse. Will you teach me how to ride?”

  ***

  Late afternoon sun slanted through the open barn door, dust motes playing in the shaft of light. Lane paused before entering. Silently he cursed again.

  He’d lost his mind, plain and simple. There was no other explanation for his abrupt request this morning. They’d finished their planning, and even though her scanty top and sensuality had been about to do him in, he’d almost escaped unscathed.

  Why then had he opened his big mouth and asked for a riding lesson? Hell, he’d no business on the back of a horse. He was a city boy born and raised—better suited for a ride in his Porsche.

  Lane exhaled slowly. The truth was that he wanted Sarah. It was as simple as that. The kiss at the bar had been a benchmark in his life. Never before had a simple kiss affected him so much. In one kiss, years of enforced isolation had fallen away. Now that he no longer needed to live only for his brother and sisters, he could think about himself and what he wanted. He was free to desire a woman—especially one who acted as if she desired him.

  Hell, it wasn’t simple, was it? He rubbed his temple. He was certain he’d lost his mind. This woman represented danger. She wanted one thing in life—marriage. And marrying meant responsibility. He was through with that. Sarah deserved nothing less than a husband and a houseful of children. Surely, she didn’t deserve a commitment-phobic man like himself. He was a fool playing her game.

  But he couldn’t help himself.

  Even now, his jeans were tight. Seeing Sarah silhouetted against the bright light and framed by the open barn door at the other end of the aisle had done that.

  No, taking riding lesson hadn’t been a good idea. Not a good idea at all.

  But he went inside anyway.

  He walked between the stalls. It was dark and cool, smelling of horses and sawdust, and somehow soothing in a primitive way.

  “There you are.” Sarah glanced up at him. “I thought you’d chicken out.”

  Those were fighting words if ever he heard them. Lane shifted his stance, easing the swell in his jeans. “I’ve never been called a coward.”

  “First time for everything.”

  Sarah was teasing again. Lane drew a breath and gazed down at her. Again she wore her dark hair loose and flowing, which only served to magnify the perfect oval of her face and the clarity of her complexion.

  “This is Harry.” She extended her hand toward the horse.

  “We’ve met.”

  “Come closer.” She motioned him forward. “I’ve never known Harry to bite.”

  Now she was laughing at him. Lane squared his shoulders and approached the huge animal. She suddenly reached out and grasped his wrist, sending shock waves racing up his arm. Gently she tugged him toward the horse.

  “Here, pat his neck. Harry’s a sweetheart.”

  Like you. He laid his palm on the soft hair of Harry’s long neck. The horse was unable to turn his head because his halter was hooked to both sides of the aisle wall by chains. The animal managed to blow a questioning snort and lip the edges of Lane’s sleeve.

  “Quit it!” Sarah gently swatted the horse’s nose. “Don’t let him get away with that.”

  Lane eyed the huge creature. “I must admit he’s intimidating.”

  “Not as much as you when you wear that white chef’s coat and stare down at me as if I’m some sort of criminal.”

  “I don’t do that,” he defended himself.

  “You did it early this morning. I much prefer your behavior at the bar.”

  She smiled at him, a sexy, come-on smile that was designed to light the fire in any man. He managed to tamp down a surge of wild lust that swept his body, wondering how Sarah could be a shy woman-child one minute and a temptress the next.

  “I thought we were here for a riding lesson.” He drew himself upright, using the skills he’d learned while managing a kitchen full of low wage staff.

  “There you go.” She shook her head. “That’s the look. Now you can’t tell me you don’t mean to intimidate me right now.”

  Intimidating? Hell, he was just trying to preserve his sanity. He’d already chided himself for suggesting a lesson. Now his fingers itched to stroke the lovely neck of his instructor instead of the one belonging to the huge four-footed animal.

  He snatched back his hand. “Okay. Point taken. Can we begin?”

  Giv
ing him a sidelong glance, Sarah unhooked the chains, removed the halter and slipped on the horse’s bridle with quick proficiency.

  “Lesson number one. You always mount a horse from the left side.

  Mount? That conjured up plenty of explicit images.

  But she seemed serious, blissfully unaware of what her words, her smile and her sexy mane of unbound hair was doing to his senses. Lane swallowed hard and tried to pay attention.

  “A horse wears a bridle and has a bit in his mouth that is used for control.” Sarah touched the pieces of equipment as she identified them. “The rider holds the reins.”

  He nodded. Standing beside her, he caught a whiff of her floral scent. Thankfully she’d replaced the skimpy tank top with a sensible pink polo shirt, but just being near her revved up the blood pulsing through his veins.

  “This is an English type saddle. The part cut out in front allows for a Saddlebred’s high neck. We call the saddle a ‘cutback’ saddle. And this cut-out makes a handy place for you to hold as you prepare to mount.”

  He nodded again, starting to sweat.

  “First you take the reins in your left hand.” She handed him the reins, her shoulder brushing his arm. “Then you grasp the cut-out with the same hand. Next you grasp the back of your saddle with your right hand.”

  “Are you going to give me a leg-up?”

  She gave him a dirty look. Hey, he was only joking.

  “Sorry, you’re just going to have to pull yourself into the saddle.”

  She circled around in front of the horse to the opposite side and continued to give directions, “Put your left foot in the stirrup and I’ll hold the other stirrup to keep your saddle steady.”

  Lane eyed her over the back of the horse. Was the chemistry between them was apparent to her too? She returned his look, challenging him.

  He took a deep breath. “One, two, three.”

  Awkwardly, Lane swung himself into the saddle, and for a moment concentrated on gaining his balance. Then he looked down at his teacher as she turned her gaze up at him.

  “How is it?”

  “High up.” He grinned. “Now what?”

  “Sit tall.” She took his right foot and guided it into the right stirrup.

  “When you ride, you want your weight on the balls of your feet.” She adjusted the positioning of his foot, her touch sending a sizzle of electricity up his leg.