She opened her eyes.
He lurched behind the tree, waiting in silence for her to march up to him and slap his face.
Finally he couldnt stand it anymore.
Heart pounding in his ears, he peered around the tree. At first he didnt see her.
He edged a little more away from the tree. Just enough to watch.
She was standing in the water now, shivering, wearing nothing except a creamy, scoop-necked chemise and matching drawers. The thin fabric clung to her curves, sculpted her tall, lithe body.
Mad Dogs reaction to the sight of her was swift and hard. He let out his breath slowly. Jesus, he couldnt believe the transformation. Relaxed, without that godawful pinched expression on her face, she was almost beautiful. The harsh austerity of her features seemed suddenly sculpted, classically chiseled.
She walked into the water, submerged, until all he could see was her pale throat and face, and her hair, fanned out and floating atop the jade water. She dropped her head back, wet her hair, and came back up.
Droplets of water slid down the sides of her face. She licked at one, tasting it. Her wet hair was the color of rich coffee; it made her skin look impossibly pale, her lips incredibly pink. And her eyes . . . Christ, her eyes were like brilliant topazes against the creamy softness of her skin.
Reaching behind her, she grabbed hold of something. Her body angled upward, floated on the surface. She lay as still as a fairy-tale princess, her body moving in the undulant rhythm of the current. Her small breasts rose and fell in gentle, even breaths, the hard peaks straining through the wet fabric.
Mad Dog stared at her. It was impossible to look away. There was no trace of the prim, proper spinster in the woman floating so calmly on the surface of the water. In her place was a woman as sensual and powerful as nature itself.
A woman who could have a big secret in her past, a pile of trouble behind her.
Mad Dog felt the hardening ache of desire. It throbbed, made his jeans feel tight.
For a crazy moment, he pictured himself going to her right now. He closed his eyes, imagining the creamy soft feel of her skin, the hard pinkness of her nipples.
A soft groan escaped him. God, he yearned to take her in his arms right now, to drag her against his hardness and kiss her. She would taste of innocence, freshness, and surrender.
Suddenly he wanted to know her. The real her, not the facade she presented to Rass and the rest of the world. He didnt want to know the spinster; he wanted to know the wood sprite who floated half-naked in a lonely pool of water. The woman who might have had "trouble" in her life, the woman with secrets.
He smiled. Who would have thought a nice, quiet little farm like this would hold an honest-to-God mystery?
Goddamn, it was intriguing. And the longer he stared at her, the more he wanted to know the truth.
Under all that drab brown fabric and starched blouses was a woman of fire and passion. A woman he wanted to know. Maybe even needed to know.
He pushed away from the tree. Turning, he headed back to the farm. With every step, he thought about her, wanted her. By the time he got back to the house, he had an honest-to-God goal. He was going to strip the facade from Mariah Throckmorton and see the real woman.
He grinned, feeling a surge of anticipation. This was gonna be fun.
Jake saw Mad Dog follow the stiff-looking lady across the orchard. He waited a long time—maybe too long—until Mad Dog disappeared down by the river.
It was Jakes chance. With a quick glance both ways, he made a beeline across the yard and raced up the steps.
At the door, he paused and looked around, then cautiously eased it open. It creaked loudly.
Jake drew in a hard breath.
No one y
elled at him, or came running.
He let out his breath and slipped inside the house. The mouth-watering aroma of simmering stew drew him toward the kitchen. His stomach rumbled loudly. Saliva rushed into his mouth.
He surged to the icebox and skidded on his knees, wrenching the wooden door open. Inside, he found some leftover ham and cold potatoes. He jammed the food under his arm and closed the icebox.
He was halfway to a stand when he heard the front door open.