“Calm down,
querida,”
he said in a gentle, serious voice. He wasn’t going to tell her that he’d picked the lock. It would only upset her more. He shook his head. “I’m not that kind of man.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The kind who wants to frighten you. Who would try to frighten you.” His expression lost its sincerity and became suspiciously solemn. “I just want to know about mud.”
Shea exhaled sharply. He looked like some sort of old-West maverick: rough and handsome, with an attitude that seemed both gallant and rakish. She could either get out of the tub and march out of the room, or she could make conversation. Shea imagined his midnight eyes watching her as she walked, muddy and naked, toward the door. She sighed.
“The mud is good for your skin,” she explained as calmly as she could. “You sit in the mud for a little while, then you take a shower, then you sit in an herbal bath, then you shower again, then you have a massage. When you’re finished, you feel fantastic.”
“Or else you have a craving to oink and squeal.”
One corner of her mouth turned up in an involuntary smile. “But it would be
relaxed
oinking and squealing.” He laughed lightly, the sound so warm and pleasant that Shea’s nerves began to loosen. “We should put you to work here,” she told him in a desperate attempt to make conversation. “You have one of those laughs that
makes people feel good.” His eyes gleamed at the compliment, and Shea felt warmth spread down her body. Oh, Lord, was she going crazy? He was a
stranger
.
“You work here?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m the estate’s manager.”
He arched one thick black brow and analyzed that information with a surprised, then pleased, look. Shea heard a sound and peered over the edge of the tub. The toe of his scuffed brown cowboy boot was idly tapping a rhythm on the white tiles.
“I tap when I think,” he told her.
“Fred Astaire made a career of that.”
He laughed again. “So where’s someone to give you a massage tonight?”
“Stop thinking, Fred.” She frowned, deciding as she did that she ought not to be so intrigued about this unsettling stranger. “I’m just here for the mud bath and a shower.”
“You like being dirty, then you like getting clean.
Querida
, you’re my kind of lady. Take a shower and let’s go to dinner.”
After a stunned moment Shea muttered something in fluent Spanish. She wished that he’d stop calling her
querida
. It meant “dearest.”
He nodded, smiling and subtlely inhaling. The scent of roses and cream would never leave his thoughts now. “I’m a fast talking
hombre
, that’s for sure. Where did you learn such street lingo?”
“Los Angeles. My hometown.”
“Ah.” Duke gazed at her thoughtfully. Though she was covered in mud, he surmised that she was an elegant, well-educated woman. Her command of barrio Spanish continued to puzzle him. “It’s nice to meet another California native,” he told her. “There aren’t many of us left.”
“What part?”
“All of me.”
“What part of
California
?” she emphasized in a droll tone.
“Imperial Valley. Near the Mexican border. Ranch and farm country.”
“Are you ranch or farm?”
“I’m hungry,” he answered with an authoritative nod. He wasn’t about to let this straight-talking princess get away so easily. “How about dinner?”
Shea rubbed muddy fingers on her suddenly tense temples. “I can’t fraternize with the guests. It’s a management rule.”
“Ah, but you’re the manager. You can change the rules.”
She shook her head. “Owner’s rule, not mine. But it’s a good one. Besides, guests aren’t supposed to eat dinner away from the estate.” She stared at him for a moment, her thoughts turbulent. “You don’t even know my name.”
“That’s why we should have dinner. To learn names.”
“The name is Shea Somerton. That eliminates the need for dinner.”
He smiled. “I like it. The name, not the refusal to eat with me.” He got up and went to a huge brass baker’s rack on one wall. He retrieved a monogrammed pink hand towel and brought it back to her. Before Shea could reach up, he bent forward and carefully wiped the dabs of mud off her face.
Shea’s senses went on complete alert. His fingertips brushed her skin, setting off interesting tingles. She looked up at him and was nearly lost in the gaze of earthy appreciation he didn’t try to hide. He smelled virile and outdoorsy, unadorned by cologne. It was a refreshing change from the expensive and loud scents the male guests used, and Shea found herself responding to this assertive visitor’s clean, masculine scent.
“Thank you,” she said blankly when he finished. He smiled at her, his eyes so intense that the smile seemed only a polite gesture meant to reassure her that she was safe. Just barely. He ran one forefinger down to her lips, brushed them lightly, and nodded at her.
Shea looked away and scooped up a handful of mud, which she smeared across her upper chest as she tried to think straight. She had never understood the kind of spontaneous sexual reaction that provoked strangers to make intimate advances. That was the stuff of racy movies and soap opera episodes, not real life—not her regimented life, at least. Men complimented her on her muscle tone; they didn’t burn her up with inviting looks.
“Is this a hint?” he asked. Shea turned her gaze upward. He gestured toward her chest. “You want me to clean more mud off you?”
There was nothing to do but laugh, so she did. This was an incredible encounter and it was completely hopeless.
“Get cleaned up and let’s drive over to town for dinner,” he urged again. “Are you married?”
“No.”
“I’m not married either. I’m a lot of fun, and—”
“You’re here to eat nutritiously. Your room has a well-stocked refrigerator, I’m certain.”
“I’m not in a room. I have one of the cottages.” He sighed grandly and straddled the chair again. “I looked in the refrigerator. Ten kinds of juices, a hundred kinds of vegetables, flat, ugly crackers—you call that eating?”
Now it was Shea’s turn to raise a brow. A week in one of the estate’s regular rooms, including the fitness and health program, cost three thousand dollars. A week in one of the cottages cost twice that. Nothing about this man proclaimed that he had money, but he
obviously had plenty. She liked the fact that he didn’t show it.
“What are you hoping to get out of your stay here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I like northern California in the springtime. Where I come from, there aren’t many trees. It’ll be fun to look at the redwoods around here. Besides, I want to see what a fat farm is all about.”
Shea frowned. She was too proud of the regimen at Estate Mendocino to let that remark pass.
“Fat farm?
This is a health and fitness resort.”
“Fat farm,” he corrected primly. “You ought to turn this place into something useful. Like an amusement park. Or a used-car lot. Or …”
“Now look,” she began.
“Sir—”
“Duke,” he interjected.
“Duke
, you have to have a positive attitude.…” She stopped talking, and her face contorted with pain.
He stood, swinging one long leg over the back of the chair in a graceful motion. “What’s the matter? Something in the mud bite you?”
“Leg c-cramp,” she managed between clenched teeth. “I ran t-ten miles tonight. Which is th-three miles more than usual.”
“Women shouldn’t run,” he said. “Makes them too hard to catch. Stick it up here.” With those unceremonious words he pointed to the edge of the tub.
“No. Really, I’ll be—”
“Hoist that leg up or I’ll go mud diving for it.”
Shea hurt too badly to argue. With a sucking sound her left foot and leg popped out of the mud. She rested her foot on the tub’s rim, and his large, blunt looking hands surrounded her mud-slicked ankle.
“Ugh,” he offered with comical disdain. “If this ankle weren’t so terrific, I’d toss it back into the mud pit and hope for a cleaner one next time.”
“The calf. Rub the c-calf,” she said in a pained whisper.
I’m ordering a man I just met to give me a massage
. Other thoughts of decorum fled as a second cramp grabbed at her muscles.
“I’ve always been good with animals. Com ’ere, calf.” His hands slid up to her knee, then stroked downward in a slow and incredibly soothing motion. He enveloped the width of her foot in one large palm and gently pushed the foot upwards. His other hand went to the back of her knee, cupped the muscles, and stroked downward again.
Duke’s eyes narrowed in concern at the feel of her smooth, supple leg. If the rest of her had this kind of touch appeal, she challenged a man’s control. He liked challenges, but he’d never felt this kind of overwhelming greed for a stranger. He knew that he was coming on to her too quickly, but he couldn’t help himself. “Better?” he asked in a troubled, soft voice.
“Better.” Her face relaxed as the pain subsided. He continued to rub the back of her leg, and their eyes met. Shea’s throat closed as an elemental sense of attraction passed in that long, quiet gaze. She pulled her leg away and submerged it in the mud again.
“I was just getting started,” he protested mildly.
“I don’t accept massages on the first date,” she answered.
Duke heard the nervousness she tried so hard to hide. “I’m sorry,” he murmured sincerely. “I’m not trying to make a move on you in the mud bath.” It wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t want to upset her. She smiled, but her wide, violet eyes assessed him shrewdly.
“You do this kind of thing often?” she asked bluntly.
“Rub women in mud baths? Nope.”
“You know what I mean. Move fast and hope for results.”
“No,” he said with soft rebuke. Duke settled back in
the chair, took the towel from the back of it, and cleaned his hands as he watched her. He realized suddenly that the towel now smelled of roses and cream. “I’m a very old-fashioned man.”
He said that without teasing, and she felt a little guilty. “I hear a lot of come-ons in my line of work,” Shea explained. “Some of our male guests think sex is part of our program.”
The look she got for that remark told her a lot about the man sitting across from her. He frowned in a contemplative, gentle way that indicated that she’d hurt him by categorizing him with other men. “
Querida
, don’t judge a horse when he starts from the gate. Wait for him to go the distance.”
She gave him a startled gaze while a sense of awe grew inside her chest. There was something about this stranger that was very easy to adore, something so powerful and Instinctive that it frightened her. In twenty-nine years nothing like this had happened to her before.
“I apologize,” she said crisply. “Would you please just leave?”
He nodded, stood up, and looked at her in a way that was both wistful and teasing. “I’ll have to talk to the owner about these rules that say guests and staff can’t fraternize.” He shook his head in mild dismay. “Fraternize. That doesn’t sound like much fun, anyway, eh,
querida
?”
“No,” she agreed. Was he giving up? Shea wondered. Had she made it too clear that she wasn’t going to break any rules? Why was he giving up so easily? When did life become so confusing? Life at Estate Mendocino was serene and beautiful. She liked life that way.
He bowed to her in a manner that was both funny and gallant. “Good night, Shea Somerton. I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, when you’re mudless.”
“Good night,” she answered softly, laughing. He turned and walked toward the door. “You’re taking the towel.”
He had the pink hand towel, dabbed with mud, slung over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to care that mud was getting on his white pullover. “I know,” he told her.
“But …”
“I’m stealing it.”
“Why?”
Duke turned at the doorway, gave her an enigmatic look, and simply smiled. The towel carried her scent, and he wasn’t going to give it up.
“
Querida
, I’m just that kind of man. I take what I want.”
He winked and left the room. Shea listened intently, her heart hammering in her throat, as his bootsteps padded down the carpeted hallway to the main door. After she heard the door open and close, she continued to sit still, feeling a little stunned. How long was he planning to stay at the resort? And what else would he charm away from her during that time, besides a hand towel?
The sun had just crested the rounded, tree-tufted mountains in the east as Shea walked down the flagstone path from her cottage. One of the advantages of working at the resort was being able to live there amidst cultivated beauty that rivaled any setting in the world. Shea bent to brush an oak leaf off one of the lush azaleas that bordered the path. Though a team of gardeners cared for the estate, she was a perfectionist. Her attitude was a positive one, born out of a deep love for order.
When she reached the main building, she climbed marble steps to a long, deep veranda and entered the
executive suite through double doors of gleaming glass and mahogany. Shea went to a small coat closet and traded her walking shoes for white leather flats.
“Good morning,” Jennie Cadishio said from behind a stack of paperwork at her desk. “I’ve run out of computer paper. Everyone in the kitchen is having hysterics because the avocados are one day past the pinnacle of ripeness and the low-cal pâté isn’t low-cal enough. Joanne Thurston wants someone to walk her poodle
four
times today. Anne says she can’t reach the two o’clock aerobics class because she has a shin splint. And
I
have a lousy raccoon in my attic at home.”
Shea went into her office and began raising the white wooden blinds that covered the tall windows. “Send someone from maintenance to town for the paper. Tell the kitchen to find some way to use the avocados and to forget about the pâté until they get it right. Have one of the gardeners walk Thurston’s poodle. You’d think the woman had won the Oscar, the way she’s acting. I’ll teach the two o’clock class. As for your raccoon, I told you not to buy that ancient house in Mendocino. It’s probably the ghost of a raccoon.”
“You must have meditated an extra ten minutes this morning,” Jennie called. “You’re extraordinarily calm.”