Leanne Banks - Trouble in High Heels

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 casserole 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.”

“No,” she said. “Four is enough.”

“That was a stinky job,” he told her.

“Yes.”

Something about this woman made him feel reckless. Just looking at her made his adrenaline hum. “I believe it made my lips go numb.”

She wrinkled her eyebrow as she studied his mouth. “They went numb? Are you allergic to onion? Ay caramba, you should have told me,” she said as she drew closer to him.

“Actually, you can fix them if you wouldn’t mind.”

“How?”

“I believe you just need to press your mouth against mine, and then they would be better.”

She blinked in surprise, then shook her head at him. “You are either very brave or very stupid to ask me to kiss you when I have a knife in my hand.”

“Agreed,” he said, throwing a wary glance at the knife out of the corner of his eye. “I’m hoping such bravery and the dicing of four onions will be rewarded.”

For three seconds, she considered it. He saw the temptation in her eyes and got a rush from it. One second later, she tossed her head and turned away. “You are loco.”

As his gaze refused to budge from her gorgeous backside, he couldn’t agree more. He was definitely loco.

Jackson stayed away from the barn for the next two nights. The situation with Lori was getting too screwy. Her fear of horses was none of his business, but he wanted to help her. She got under his skin and into his head way too easily. He didn’t just want to help her. He wanted to help himself to her. And she wasn’t exactly kicking him away.

By the third night, though, he was restless and decided he should check on her. She was, after all, the reason he was here.

He went to the barn and saw that the duke hadn’t joined her. He found that curious. If Geoffrey were smart, he would be spending every spare minute with Lori.

She stood at the far end of the barn, crooning to Rowdy. Straining against the door, she stroked the horse’s neck. He felt a rush of pleasure that she had made such progress. For a woman who pretended to be a blonde airhead, she possessed a lot of courage.

He watched, unable to breathe, as she pulled open the door and stepped inside Rowdy’s stall. Swallowing an oath, he wondered if this was her first time. He hoped Rowdy wouldn’t frighten her or, worse, hurt her.

That last thought twisted his stomach, and he rushed to the stall. Inside, she stood next to the large horse, petting him and talking to him. Rowdy nodded in approval. Jackson stood staring as if his shoes were nailed to the barn floor. The image before him snapped inside his brain like a photo of Lori, small, vulnerable, but determined, and the horse responding to her.

He finally exhaled and Rowdy pricked up his ears and looked at him. Lori’s gaze followed. Surprise widened her eyes, and then she turned back to Rowdy, stroked him once more, and moved toward the stall door. Rowdy followed.

She opened the door and slid through the small opening. “I didn’t expect you.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your rendezvous,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her.

“It’s okay. He let me in his stall with him last night,” she said and smiled. “He’s like a little kid. Really sweet.”

He nodded, feeling his heart tugged by the expression on her face. “Are you ready for the next step?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready for that.”

“You’ve come a long way.”

“Baby steps,” she said. “And he’s a good guy. Maria has made sure of that.”

“She isn’t as generous in her comments about you,” he said.

“She’s in a different position, and she doesn’t know me,” Lori said, then laughed. “Not like those who love me know me.”

“So, if I grabbed a bridle and invited you to go for a ride tonight, how would you respond?” he asked on a very rare impulse.

She shrugged. “I’m safe because it’s all supposition.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin. “Okay. Hold that thought.” He walked to the tack room, grabbed a bridle, and returned. “Hey, Rowdy,” he said in a low voice to the gelding. “Wanna go for a little ride?”

Rowdy immediately moved to his stall door and pricked up his ears. Jackson chuckled. He put the bridle on the horse, led him outside the stall, and mounted him bareback. He looked at Lori. “We’re past supposition now. What are you going to do?”

Backing away, Lori inhaled and glanced at the horse. Nerves danced in her stomach.

Then she looked at Jackson. Strong and in control, he hugged Rowdy with his thighs and held the reins not too tight and not too slack. He could take care of her, she thought. In the next moment, with sickening clarity, she remembered that accidents could happen.

Her palms clammy with fear, and her throat tight with apprehension, she stood there frozen. She felt him study her and hoped she didn’t look as terrified as she felt.

“Hey, if you’re not ready,” he began.

Despite her crippling fear, or perhaps because of it, Lori felt something inside her rip. She was tired of being afraid. Sick of it. She lifted her head. “I’m not, but it’s time,” she said and forced her feet to move toward him and Rowdy.

“You sure?”

“Not at all,” she said, lifting her hands for him to help her. “But I don’t want to overthink this. I just want to do it.”

He bent over and wrapped his hand around hers. “Give me your best jump,” he said.

She leapt, and a second later she sprawled onto Rowdy’s back. She clung to Jackson, wrapping her hands around his taut torso. As if Rowdy sensed this was a momentous occasion, the horse danced and snorted.

“Hold tight,” Jackson said and brushed one of his hands over hers. He swore under his breath. “Your hands are like ice. Are you sure-”

“Don’t ask, just ride,” she interrupted him.

“Okay,” he said and nudged Rowdy slowly forward. They took a couple slow walks around the barn. Lori figured he wanted her to get used to being on a horse again. The rocking motion felt alternately foreign and familiar. By the fourth time around, Lori was ready for more.

“Step it up,” she said.

“No need to rush.”

“I’m already here,” she said. “You may as well give me a real ride, Jackson.”

The urgency in her words made every muscle in Jackson ’s body tighten in attention. He felt a surge of pride that he’d been the one to get her to ride again, that he’d tapped a little of the passion she’d shut down for years. He couldn’t help being curious about all that banked passion and how many different ways she would release it. The strange intimacy between them wrapped around him like a spell of the night, making him aware of every breath she took, every exhale against the back of his neck, the sensation of her breasts crushed against his back, her thighs open and hugging him.

“Okay,” he muttered and nudged Rowdy into a slow trot and away from the safe circle of the corral.

Lori’s heart beat in her throat, making it difficult to breathe, and when she did, she caught a draft of Jackson ’s clean male scent. She felt the remnants of terror, but exhilaration was taking over. Holding tightly to Jackson, she relished the wind in her hair and even the bumpiness of Rowdy’s trot. Her bottom might be a little sore tomorrow, but she didn’t care. The night was clear, and the stars sparkled brightly against the black sky.

She sensed the horse’s desire to go faster, to break free of his in-between pace. She felt the same itch. “Let him run,” she said.

“Hold on,” Jackson said, and seconds later, Rowdy began to run.

The speed gave her a thrill she hadn’t experienced since the last time she’d ridden a horse. Another shot of exhilaration bolted through, and she laughed.

“You okay?” Jackson asked.

“No,” she said, clinging to him. “I’m wonderful.”

She didn’t know how long the ride lasted, but she felt as excited as a kid when the barn came in sight and he slowed to a walk. Lori inhaled and blew out a long breath, dipping her head against Jackson ’s broad, strong back. “Oh, that was great.”