The Cowboy's Wife For One Night
And she knew that all the calving data in her notebooks needed to be inputted into the computer. That was something she could do; she could even put her feet up while she did it.
The clock on her bedside table read 10:30, and the house was quiet. Maybe no one would care, or even know, if she left her room for more than a bathroom break.
She turned the knob on her door and something jangled and thumped against the other side. She jerked the door open only to find her old bridle, the one done up in Christmas bells, looped around the doorknob.
Bastard!
The bedroom door next to hers opened, and Jack, wearing nothing but an old pair of sweats, stepped out into the hallway.
He grinned, scratching his belly. “Going somewhere?” he asked.
“This is a little much, isn’t it Jack? Why don’t you just lock me in?”
“No locks,” he said with a shrug, like the idea had occurred to him and it was simply unfortunate he couldn’t go with his first choice.
The door across the hall opened and Walter appeared, wearing a pair of faded blue pajamas.
“It worked,” he said with a sly grin that Mia truly did not appreciate.
“Told you it would,” Jack said.
Walter nodded and turned himself around without the help of a cane or his walker. She was surprised to see how much improvement he’d made in the last two weeks. He was practically a different man, and she’d been so busy she barely noticed.
“Go to sleep, Mia,” Walter said over his shoulder and shut the door behind him.
“You heard the man,” Jack said, covering a yawn with his fist. She wished Jack would cover up his chest with a damn shirt. Honestly, what was a hydroengineer doing with six-pack abs?
He was crowding her in the doorway, forcing her to step back into her room, but she wasn’t about to be herded.
“Come on, Jack,” she sighed. “I’m so bored.”
“Watch TV,” he said.
“Have you watched TV lately?” she asked. “Nothing but bad talent shows and half-naked people in hot tubs kissing each other.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “That sounds all right.”
He put his hand on her arm, gripping her elbow to help her turn, and the contact made part of her body ring out like the Christmas bells on that old bridle.
See? she thought. See what too much television will do to a woman? Give her body ideas it had no business having.
She pulled away, putting some room between them, to give her unruly impulses a chance to simmer down. “You know I can sit at the computer just as well as I can sit in this room.”
“Computer?” he asked, pulling the blankets down off her bed, revealing the white sheets.
“The calving data needs to be entered into the system and I—”
He shook his head, making the wild rooster tail of his hair wave with the motion. His hair had gotten long since Santa Barbara. Longer than she’d ever seen it. It made him look disreputable. She clenched her hands into fists against the urge to push her hands into that thick blond mess, feel the silky strands against her skin.
“You want to work?” he asked. “You know that’s against the rules.”
“It’s computer work! It’s not like I’m herding cattle.”
“Back in bed, Mia.” He shook the blankets like she was a bull. They stared at each other a long time but she wasn’t about to go willingly back into her jail, not without some kind of concession.
“Okay,” he sighed, finally. “I’ll put the program on my laptop and you can enter the data in here tomorrow.”
Not bad as far as compromises went.
“Okay,” she said, “but I’m bored now.” It was whiney, even to her own ears, but she was desperate.
“It’s ten-thirty,” he said. “Sleep.”
“I slept all day.”
He took a deep breath and again she tried not to look at his body. It was impossible. He was gorgeous, sleek and smooth, his chest defined and strong, his arms thick with surprising muscles.
And his sweatpants hung on an ass she wanted to take a bite out of.
“You know, I’ve changed my mind,” she said, slightly scared of this attraction. The intimacy of her bedroom and the thick night around them. No good would come of this. “Forget it.”
Her aching tailbone was beginning to think those white sheets and soft bed looked pretty good, so she crawled in, careful with all her sore parts, and yanked the blankets out of his grip.
He stared down at her and she felt his gaze, like it was his hand, sweep across her forehead and over her hair. He wanted to touch her; his intent was such a force she could barely stand it.
And, for a second, the stupid parts of her brain and the starved parts of her body joined forces and she thought, what the hell? He was here, they were married, she was bored out of her skull and it’s not like they could do all that much in the pain she was in. What harm could come of it?