If smoke steamed out her nose, he wouldn’t be a bit surprised. “If it’s too much trouble, never mind.”
He stared her down and then blew out a hefty breath. “It’s not too much trouble. Let’s just get on with it, okay?”
“Okay.” She seemed to wilt with relief. “Oh, no. I forgot about Buggy. Please make sure someone takes care of him. Poor thing. He must be starving.”
“Buggy?”
“You know. The baby cow.”
“He’s called a calf, Miss Hammond. Around here, we don’t name our cattle. What the hell kind of name is Buggy, anyway?”
“He has the cutest big brown eyes that bug right out of his head. It’s the first thing that popped into my mind, I guess.”
“You have some strange thoughts ‘pop’ into that mind of yours.” He tried to stop his lips from twitching. “Don’t worry about, er, Buggy. Making sure my livestock are well fed is my job. Now, I’m gonna roll you over.”
She blinked.
“I don’t bite.”
“You don’t?” She sounded ... disappointed? Jesus, did she actually want him to? If she didn’t stop looking at him that way, he just might.
“Miss Hammond?”
“Lay your hands on me and squeeze away, Mr. Rafferty.”
He ran a palm over his face, shook his head, and then rolled her onto her stomach so she’d stop looking at him. She stiffened, relaxing as her body settled. Gripping the hem of her nightgown, he slid it up the length of her slender legs until he reached the firm little package he’d admired many times. But he’d never imagined he’d be squeezing, kneading and shaping those sloping curves, covered with the skimpiest pair of ivory-lace, string-bikini underpants he’d ever seen.
His breathing quickened and his pulse began to thunder like stampeding cattle, until little beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He shook off his train of thought and whisked her nightgown over slightly flared hips, a narrow waist, a delicate ribcage, a long, smooth back, and sexy tousled hair.
Her skin looked silky. Not like some perfectly toned model but real and feminine. So damned feminine. He reached out his shaking hand and caught himself before trailing his fingertips down her spine. God, she was beautiful.
Making a fist, he clamped his teeth shut until he felt the muscles in his jaw throb and the veins in his neck bulge. He regained some semblance of control, tossed her nightgown onto the back of the dresser chair, and then steeled himself for what he had to do next. Slowly, he straddled her back, careful not to put his full weight on her legs.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she squeaked, calming considerably as he soothed the back of her neck with his palms.
“Shhh. Relax, Miss Hammond. It’s more effective in this position. Trust me.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince as he started at the top of her head and painstakingly massaged his way down to her adorable toes.
“Ow, oww, owww,” she howled.
“It only hurts until the stiffness gets worked out, then it’ll feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Ah, ahh, ahhh,” she sighed in ecstasy a few minutes later.
Would she feel the same with another man’s hands on her body? He hoped not. Where the hell had that thought come from? He knew exactly where. Monica was the first woman to get under his skin since his ex-wife.
Not a good sign.
* * *
Cody couldn’t speak through the rest of the massage, and Monica just kept moaning. He had all he could do to contain his rampaging desire. Hell, he’d explode if he had to touch her much longer. Rushing through the last of her toes, he tucked the sheet around her, rolled her over, and then took a big step back from the bed.
She looked like she’d been made love to for hours. Flushed cheeks. Wild hair. Limp as a wet noodle. She sent him a lazy smile with half-lidded, speckled-brown eyes.
He frowned. The last time he’d let a pretty face draw him in, he’d wound up married, cheated on, and divorced. A hell of a price to pay for
He stared her down and then blew out a hefty breath. “It’s not too much trouble. Let’s just get on with it, okay?”
“Okay.” She seemed to wilt with relief. “Oh, no. I forgot about Buggy. Please make sure someone takes care of him. Poor thing. He must be starving.”
“Buggy?”
“You know. The baby cow.”
“He’s called a calf, Miss Hammond. Around here, we don’t name our cattle. What the hell kind of name is Buggy, anyway?”
“He has the cutest big brown eyes that bug right out of his head. It’s the first thing that popped into my mind, I guess.”
“You have some strange thoughts ‘pop’ into that mind of yours.” He tried to stop his lips from twitching. “Don’t worry about, er, Buggy. Making sure my livestock are well fed is my job. Now, I’m gonna roll you over.”
She blinked.
“I don’t bite.”
“You don’t?” She sounded ... disappointed? Jesus, did she actually want him to? If she didn’t stop looking at him that way, he just might.
“Miss Hammond?”
“Lay your hands on me and squeeze away, Mr. Rafferty.”
He ran a palm over his face, shook his head, and then rolled her onto her stomach so she’d stop looking at him. She stiffened, relaxing as her body settled. Gripping the hem of her nightgown, he slid it up the length of her slender legs until he reached the firm little package he’d admired many times. But he’d never imagined he’d be squeezing, kneading and shaping those sloping curves, covered with the skimpiest pair of ivory-lace, string-bikini underpants he’d ever seen.
His breathing quickened and his pulse began to thunder like stampeding cattle, until little beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He shook off his train of thought and whisked her nightgown over slightly flared hips, a narrow waist, a delicate ribcage, a long, smooth back, and sexy tousled hair.
Her skin looked silky. Not like some perfectly toned model but real and feminine. So damned feminine. He reached out his shaking hand and caught himself before trailing his fingertips down her spine. God, she was beautiful.
Making a fist, he clamped his teeth shut until he felt the muscles in his jaw throb and the veins in his neck bulge. He regained some semblance of control, tossed her nightgown onto the back of the dresser chair, and then steeled himself for what he had to do next. Slowly, he straddled her back, careful not to put his full weight on her legs.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she squeaked, calming considerably as he soothed the back of her neck with his palms.
“Shhh. Relax, Miss Hammond. It’s more effective in this position. Trust me.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince as he started at the top of her head and painstakingly massaged his way down to her adorable toes.
“Ow, oww, owww,” she howled.
“It only hurts until the stiffness gets worked out, then it’ll feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Ah, ahh, ahhh,” she sighed in ecstasy a few minutes later.
Would she feel the same with another man’s hands on her body? He hoped not. Where the hell had that thought come from? He knew exactly where. Monica was the first woman to get under his skin since his ex-wife.
Not a good sign.
* * *
Cody couldn’t speak through the rest of the massage, and Monica just kept moaning. He had all he could do to contain his rampaging desire. Hell, he’d explode if he had to touch her much longer. Rushing through the last of her toes, he tucked the sheet around her, rolled her over, and then took a big step back from the bed.
She looked like she’d been made love to for hours. Flushed cheeks. Wild hair. Limp as a wet noodle. She sent him a lazy smile with half-lidded, speckled-brown eyes.
He frowned. The last time he’d let a pretty face draw him in, he’d wound up married, cheated on, and divorced. A hell of a price to pay for
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