The Rancher's Untamed Heart (11 page)

His brow was furrowed, and he was looking intently at me.

"With what you know from college, with what you've been told at your job. What would you change at my ranch?"

That launched a surprisingly in-depth conversation about the state of his ranch.

By the time we finished our dinners, we’d started sketching maps and charts on napkins. Clint was wary of the current model of enormous agribusiness, but recognized the need to move past some of his father’s methods, which were pretty much the same methods that his grandfather had used.

We walked to his truck in a companionable and overstuffed silence, and I hauled myself up into the high cab.

We sat there for a minute, quietly, in the big, comfortable seats.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clint open his mouth, and shut it again.

"What?" I asked.

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

"What's on your mind?" I pressed.

This dinner had taught me something important: It wasn't just that my body sang to be near Clint's. I liked his manners, his smile, I liked his mind.

I didn't want to lose him before he was even mine.

"We were going to have sex," he said bluntly.

"I think so, yes," I said. Could he hear the catch in my voice? I was trying to stay calm, but I do not know if I really succeeded.

"I don't know if you expect to have sex tonight," he said, "I don't want to disappoint you, but I also would like to get to know you a little better."

He looked at me and gave that half-smile, twisting his mouth.

"Brandon might say that I'm a ridiculous old fool, but now that I am not so frantic to touch you, I can't help but see my mother's face and think about how disappointed she'd be."

I smiled at him.

"Honestly, it's not something I normally would have done either," I said.

He laughed.

"Trying to make me feel better?" he asked.

"No, no," I said.

The sceptical look that flitted across Clint’s face twisted my heart.

“I’m not exactly saving myself for marriage,” I said, “I’ve been with a man before, but never a man I wasn’t dating. Never a man I’d just met.”

He looked a little relieved.

“I’ve slept with women I’d just met, and I’ve slept with women I was dating,” he said, “Never both, though. If I met a woman and wanted to get to know her, I’ve always held off.”

“Six months,” I said.

Clint looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

“Let’s go out for six months, and not have sex until then,” I said.

He laughed.

“That’s going to be torture, but it serves me right,” he said, and nodded slowly. “Okay. Six months.”

“Do you want me to take you home now?” he asked.

“Actually,” I said, “I brought a change of clothes and a toothbrush.”

His hand slipped as he tried to start the truck, making it cough and sputter.

“I thought we just said six months,” he said.

“We can watch a movie and then sleep in separate beds, can’t we?” I asked, grinning.

Clint successfully started the car.

He looked at me, and laughed, and looked away again.

“You clearly have more trust in yourself than I do in me,” he said.

I squirmed on the seat. Being alone with him, even in a truck, was doing delicious things to my body and I was already regretting my suggestion that we wait six months to have sex.

Six months. Looking at his strong jaw, I didn’t know if I could wait six more minutes for him to be mine.

Trying to pull myself together, I gave Clint directions to my apartment, only ten minutes from the Mexican restaurant.

He pulled up and found a space for his enormous Ford amid the compact foreign cars in my lot.

Before he could turn the truck off and get out to open the door for me, I had to be careful sliding out of the truck, not to open the door too wide and take out an entire Prius. It wouldn't be a great impression on Clint.

On the other hand, I had a sneaking suspicion that he might just laugh.

I turned and looked at him, watching me with hunger in his eyes, seatbelt still buckled, truck still running.

"Are you getting out?" I asked, "Or do I need to haul myself back into your cab to give you a good night kiss?"

He gave a long, slow, smile and cut the engine, leaning over to pass me my purse from where I'd left it in the center console.

"I'll walk you up to your door," he said, his voice pitched a little lower than usual.

I had to remind myself very firmly that he was not going to come inside with me, he was going to be a gentleman and stay outside my threshold.

"Sounds good," I said, trying to stay casual.

When he came around the other side of the truck, he offered me his arm, and I took it.

The feeling of our arms touching, even through his shirt and my sweater, was like fire. I had to resist the urge to moan just from that contact.

I shut my eyes for a moment to steady myself.

When I opened them again, Clint was looking concerned.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Never better," I said, "Enjoying the moment."

"It's a good moment," he said quietly. It really was. Standing with Clint under the harsh streetlight of a dark Texas evening in front of my boring apartment building felt fresh and new, and I was grateful.

"Which unit?" he asked, and I jerked my head, leading him inside the building.

I considered taking the elevator, to give us a few private moments, but thought better of it. The stairs were an excuse to lean on him.

Lean I did, pretty shamelessly, enjoying the feeling of his strong body against mine.

I lived only one floor up, and we arrived at my apartment door too soon. I wished that we could have strolled around the city all night, but ranch chores start early, and I didn't feel right taking all of his sleep. Tonight, at least.

Standing in front of the door with him, I shifted from foot to foot and wished that he'd just sweep me up in his arms. I didn't know if he was waiting for me to kiss him, though.

After a moment, Clint put his hands on my shoulders, making me feel small and delicate in comparison, and leaned down to claim my mouth in his own.

The feel of him against me was incredible.

I needed him, and now I couldn't have him. Instead of melting into his touch, I pressed my body against his, feeling the hard length of his lean frame against my legs, my belly, my breasts.

He opened his mouth to say something and I took the chance to attack, leaning up and pressing my lips against his, plundering his mouth with my tongue, kissing him with all the passion and frustration I was feeling.

He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me, if possible, even more tightly against him, pressing our mouths together and leaning down, showing me his strength and size.

I could feel his hardness throb between us, and my body responded with equal need. My nipples grew hard in my bra, the feeling of his body only a few layers of fabric away almost more than I could take.

The ache was growing between my legs to maddening levels, and I could feel myself grow wet and slick with desire for him.

Finally, I remembered that, while it was fun to be swept along by passion in an apartment hallway, it wasn't polite, or appropriate.

I pulled away from him, gasping. He let me go, but kept pulling me back, gently, to place fast soft kisses on my lips, my cheeks, my brow.

Finally, we stood again, staring into each other's eyes. I was lost in those deep pools, and the desire and tenderness that I saw there warmed and frightened me in a way I could get used to.

"Good night," I finally said.

He chuckled.

"Quite a good night kiss," he said.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and stood for a minute, looking at me.

"See you soon," he said, and turned on his heel. I watched him walk back to the end of the hallway and disappear into the stairwell.

I turned back to open my own door and blushed as red as a beet.

"Excuse me, Mr. Francesa, Mrs. Francesa," I said. "I'm sorry about, uh, that."

Mrs. Francesa cackled, and I turned to face her, the opposite way from where Clint had gone.

"What do you think we were doing fifty years ago?" she asked.

"I thought you already had children fifty years ago," I retorted. I had met some of their children,

and the oldest had to be at least fifty.

"Yes, we were leaving them with my mother so we could neck in hallways," she said. "How do you think people end up with seven children?"

I tried to think up a response, but Mr. Francesa took pity on me.

"Stop tormenting her, Cheryl," he said. "Save it for our own grandbabies."

"We have lots," she said happily. "Family trait, apparently, not being able to keep your damn hands to yourself."

Mr. Francesa laughed at that.

"Come on, my darling," he said to his wife, "Let's go inside and let her figure out that she's trying to unlock her house with her car key."

I looked down and swore to myself. As the elderly couple disappeared into their own door, I finally managed to find the right key and let myself into the apartment.

I shut the door and leaned against it, trying to cool my passion down. Even being teased by

Cheryl Francesa wasn't enough, apparently, my nipples were still rock-hard and my body still ached for the touch of Clint's.

There was nothing else for it. I went to my bedroom and opened the drawer in my bedside table, taking out a discreet purple silicone toy.

Before I went to sleep that night, I finished myself off, coming to the thought of Clint's hands sliding over my breasts earlier. I wondered if, on his ranch, he was coming to thoughts of me.

I hoped he was.