Once Tempted (24 page)

He’d shoved his hands in his pockets. He was in businessman mode today, dressed in a midnight blue dress shirt and gray trousers, every inch of him as sinfully handsome as he’d been the day before in jeans and chaps, the brim of his dark beige cowboy hat pulled low over his brow.

Urban or country, it didn’t matter. She’d be too busy shucking his clothes off as fast as she could. She wanted the man underneath.

“You know I’m attracted to you.”

For all their casualness, his words, spoken in a low, husky voice, sent a thrill of pleasure skipping down her spine. It danced at the base, radiant.

She swallowed. “I know.”

“So, are we going to do something about this thing between us?”

She glanced at his chiseled profile and then looked away quickly lest he read too much in her expression. She could do this—keep it physical, she told herself. They would be satisfying an intense physical attraction.

There’d be nothing deeper between them.

Nothing that involved her heart. She couldn’t trust that organ. It had misled her so disastrously with David.

“I think we’ll have to.”

He gave a short, decisive nod of his head. She couldn’t help but note that he, too, seemed determined to keep his gaze averted. “Good to know.”

I think we’ll have to
. It had taken every ounce of Ward’s self-control not to jump Tess the moment she’d uttered those words. Of course he’d have to have dragged her outside first. No way would he have touched her in that room.

He was a healthy male; he’d instantly envisioned Tess and him reenacting every sexual position so graphically imprinted on the walls of the guest room. He’d come up with a dozen more ways to pleasure Tess as well, but nothing on earth would induce him to try a single one in a room marked with others’ leavings.

The effort cost him. He wasn’t sure how he got through the next several hours, but he must not have blundered too badly. He couldn’t recall anyone looking at him cross-eyed … though, truth be told, his eyesight had gone kind of hazy. Sexual anticipation blurred his vision.

To clear his head and make the hands of the clock move forward to the hour when he could legitimately find Tess and drag her off somewhere private, he took Rio out to check on the cattle in the far pasture, glad it was a Monday and that Mitch and Rick would be leading the trail rides for the few guests staying at the ranch. He wasn’t in the mood for chitchat and was pretty sure he’d bite the head off anyone who interrupted him imagining Tess naked and underneath him.

It was Quinn who reminded him that this was the day Tess was cooking her Italian dinner. Since he’d ridden Rio hard and then had to take extra time cooling the gelding down, he’d been sure he had to suffer only an hour or so more before getting Tess to himself. The realization that he’d have to share her with a room full of foodies over dinner made him growl low in his throat. He didn’t want to eat food, damn it. He wanted to taste Tess.

Quinn was used to his surlier moods, so she just lifted a brow. “Gee, I kind of thought you’d be looking forward to Tess’s special dinner. Since you went to the trouble of buying her those truly kick-ass boots I assumed you’d grown markedly more intelligent about the opposite sex.”

Ward merely shot her his most withering look and lifted his saddle off Rio’s back. The gelding’s coat was still damp so he snapped a lead rope onto Rio’s halter and began walking him down the gravel road.

Annoyingly, Quinn fell into step beside him. Though his sister wasn’t as tall as he was, she had pretty long legs, so she didn’t have to work too hard to match his stride.

“I wish I could come to dinner just for the entertainment value of watching you two try not to look at each other. It’s hysterical.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be right now?”

“Nope. Not until tonight. I’m taking over for Reid so he can enjoy the tastings he’s scheduled at the vineyards. I’ve got barn duty. Pete told me Bianca’s giving signs she’s ready to foal. A big dinner would just make me sleepy.”

Ward set aside his irritation with his sister to say, “You’ll call me if she does foal.”

“Not likely—not unless she’s having trouble, that is. I’m not going to interrupt your evening with my favorite city girl. What’s that saying? The one about how food is the language of love?” she asked, batting her eyes.

An image of the Mariposa cabin flashed before his eyes. If the saying Quinn quoted was true, those guests must certainly have been feeling the love. Ward didn’t know exactly how deep his feelings for Tess ran. He admired and liked her. His physical attraction was obvious and had only increased since he’d begun spending more time with her. He’d invested a hell of a lot of thought
into buying her boots. He wanted her around. He wanted to be inside her and make her cry as she came. That might not add up to love, but it was a lot more than he’d felt for a woman in a long time.

And it made the biting need to make love to her all the sharper.

A
NYONE WHO CLAIMED
that cooking for a room full of professionals was fun was as mad as Alice’s hatter. Still, Tess thought she’d been handling the dinner preparations fairly well, even with Jeff watching her every move—her every slice, measure, and mix of ingredients—with eagle-eyed intensity until she was ready to scream that it was just
dinner
.

To make matters worse, the recipe had to be doubled to serve the entire kitchen—Jeff’s and Roo’s staff combined. The math didn’t present too much of a challenge—or it wouldn’t have if Jeff hadn’t been rattling off questions about where her mother liked to buy her ingredients and how long the recipe had been in the family.

In sum, there was an awful lot of penne to boil and cheese to grate. She couldn’t help but worry that one false move and instead of Romano cheese she’d be adding skin and blood to the recipe. Not a pleasant thought. The same fear gripped her while she was shaving parmesan and slicing asparagus for the salad. When she finished the prep work with her fingers still attached and intact, she was nearly giddy with relief.

Not a good state to be in when Ward entered the kitchen. Her giddiness made her even more susceptible
to his presence than usual. A roaring filled her ears, as if the kitchen had magically transformed into a stadium filled to the rafters with screaming fans. Yet oddly, everyone in the kitchen—Roo had come over to watch her prepare the fig crostata with the same unnerving intensity as her colleague—and Heather, Gordon, and Chris, who were crisscrossing the space, preparing the last of the dinner orders, faded to near invisibility. They became mere shades the second she saw Ward.

He’d just showered. His hair was damp and curling at the ends and his jaw was freshly shaven. With her senses askew, she somehow knew that despite the distance separating them she would only have to breathe deeply to catch his clean, soapy scent. It would fill her like a physical thing.

Her fingers sank into the ball of dough she’d let chill for an hour in the massive walk-in refrigerator. It was cool and slightly sticky against her skin, and she realized then that the rest of the dinner would be like this: torturous reminders of the scene she and Ward had happened upon this morning. As she spread the thick, sweet, grappa-spiked fig jam, she imagined that she wasn’t applying it over the flattened dough but rather over Ward’s quivering muscles. Her hand shook.

“Wow, if I weren’t so eager to taste your mom’s baked penne, I’d suggest we skip straight to dessert. That crostata looks really delicious, doesn’t it, Ward?” Jeff said.

“Yeah, it does.” His voice was like a low rumble of thunder, intense and thrilling.

“I think I’m going to have to eat a couple of slices at least. One plain and then a second drizzled with heavy cream. Whipped might be tasty. Not strictly traditional, but sometimes rules need to be broken. What do you think, Tess?”

“Mm-hmm.” The sound was far too close to a moan. She hadn’t prayed in a while. Now seemed like a good
time. Please, no more speculating on the merits of heavy cream. Make that no more food-related questions, period. She couldn’t take another food fantasy without turning into a babbling idiot. “Uh, I could use a really big glass of ice water.”

“Worked up a thirst?” Roo asked her.

“Kind of.” If drinking it didn’t cool her down, she could always dump it over her head.

The dinner Tess had prepared was delicious. The food was flavorful, nicely presented yet unpretentious. After the hard ride he’d put in on Rio, Ward would normally have enjoyed seconds and been happy to hang out with Roo and Jeff and the kitchen staff, all food lovers and great people to break bread with. But as he polished off course after course, he was consumed by one thought: He might not be responsible for the consequences if he didn’t get Tess alone. Soon.

Ward wasn’t sure if anyone around the long table, which Heather and Chris had set up and decorated with white linen cloths and votive candles and sprigs of rosemary and lavender in bud vases, noticed how quiet he and Tess were throughout dinner.

They were having too good a time.

The wine, a Montepulciano d’Abruzzo supplied by Ward, was flowing, Jeff had his iPod playing a mix of Dean Martin, Paolo Conte, and Frank Sinatra in tribute to the meal Tess had prepared, and Heather and Chris had already felt compelled by the tunes and the deliciousness of the baked penne to get up from the table and perform a laid-back swing dance.

They’d be a sight to enjoy, too, except Tess was finishing her fig crostata. Ward twirled the wine in the bowl of his glass and concentrated on not snapping the stem between his fingers. He wanted that mouth on him. He
wanted that sweet pink tongue trailing and lapping, those white teeth nipping and scoring. Any path she chose to travel along his body was fine with him, but he wanted the explorations to begin now.

And he intended to return the favor, lick for lick, nibble for nibble.

Tess finished the last bite of her crostata, and he was torn between cursing and groaning in relief that the sensual torture-pleasure of watching the loaded fork slip past her parted lips was finally at an end.

He rose from his chair and circled the table, his step determined. Woe to anyone who tried to come between him and Tess, distract him with chitchat, or quiz her about whether adding fresh figs to the crostata would improve the dessert. He just might toss them into the corner of the empty dining room. He stopped by her chair and held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

“I—we can’t just
leave
!” Her voice was high pitched with anxiety.

His gaze swept the table. Roo, Jeff, Chris, and Liz merely smiled … Cheshire cat smiles. Okay, so maybe they had noticed how quiet and edgy he and Tess had been throughout the meal. Or else they’d heard a whisper about a budding romance; Silver Creek was a hot-bed of juicy gossip. For all Ward cared they could have read about him and Tess in the local paper. All that mattered was being alone with Tess. Starting now.

“Yeah, we can.” He reached down and took her hand. “Night, all.”

“Night,” they echoed amiably.

“Thanks for the delicious meal, Tess,” Jeff said, raising his glass of grappa in salute.

“Don’t you need me to—” Her voice was strained. Nerves, he thought. He was feeling pretty edgy himself.

“You cooked. We ate. Ergo, we clean up,” Jeff said.

“Yeah, those are the rules,” Roo confirmed.

Before Tess could find any other topics to discuss, Ward tugged her hand and led her out of the low-lit dining room, past Natalie working at the front desk, who barely bothered to glance up from her computer screen, and into the night.