My Secret Fantasies

“There’s a fresh pot up at the house.” Picturing her in his kitchen proved almost as potent as envisioning her in his bed. But when she didn’t move to take him up on the offer, he extended his mug. “Or you can have—”

“Ohmigod. Thank you.” She accepted the stainless-steel mug with both hands and drew it to her face so she could inhale the steam. “I’ve been awake most of the night, and when I smelled this, I was seized with this major caffeine craving.”

Intrigued by her in spite of himself, Damien leaned against the stall wall while Tallulah’s Nine nursed her foal. He noticed Miranda didn’t wear nail polish, but her fingernails seemed to bear stickers of different flowers. A daisy on one thumb. A daffodil on the other. Some purple blooms on the pointer fingers. It was easy to see them, with her hands clutching the coffee cup. She treated drinking like a ritual, all her attention devoted to the task until she’d taken three long sips.

“Perfect.” She caught his gaze with pale blue eyes shadowed by dark circles. “So what do you think of the color?”

“Hmm?” He’d been lost in thought about her eyes, so the question caught him off guard, as if she’d read his mind.

“Caramel taffy?” She held up a curl of her new dark hair. “I was picturing something more along the lines of butterscotch, but this is...brown.”

“Sorrel.” He found himself reaching for the lock of hair before he could stop himself. He lifted it to the light, examining it. “Chestnut.”

Smoothing the strand between his fingers, he savored the silky softness. Underneath her big personality and crazy accessories, everything about her seemed delicate. Fragile, even. If he’d seen a photo of her as she looked right now, unmoving, he would imagine she had an elegant British accent and gentle demeanor. But her mobile features and expressive voice demanded as much attention as her bright clothes. While she was dressed more appropriately for the barn today, the thin, purple cotton T-shirt under her open jacket featured an image of a campy fortune-teller, and floral print jeans covered her long legs. She wore a green Fraser Farm hat over her newly colored hair, the short strands curling close to her jaw.

“Chestnut seems a far cry from caramel taffy, wouldn’t you say?” She peered up at him and he remembered he still held one soft curl in his fingers.

He released it so fast it sprang back against her cheek with a bounce, making her blink.

“It looks...” Sexy. Hot. Tempting. “...nice.” He cleared his throat and wished he could clear his thoughts, too. He needed a reset button on this morning, preferably going all the way back to the moment he’d woken up, so he could change that first thought about Miranda. “Did you want some breakfast?”

Maybe offering to feed her wasn’t strictly in line with his desire to stop thinking about her. But damn it, she was too thin and too exhausted, with way too many shadows around her eyes. He didn’t like the idea of sending her away without giving her a good meal or two. Hell, she’d worked so seamlessly at his side the day before that she’d earned that much, at least. He would have paid Scotty time and a half for working late with the foal.

“Depends.” She winked at him over the rim of the coffee cup, a gesture more friendly than flirtatious. “I have a hard time eating by myself. Can’t sit still.”

Did she have a tough time sleeping by herself, too? The question blared in his brain before he could filter it. She said she’d been awake half the night.

And with that visual jumping around in his head, he didn’t dare offer her company for breakfast.

“I already ate.” It was a lie, and it sounded like one, since he practically growled the words. But Miranda had been on his property for less than twenty-four hours and she’d already mounted a full-scale invasion of his thoughts. He needed to reinforce some personal defenses more than he needed those fences restrung in the north pasture.

“In that case...I’m good.” She hopped to her feet, handing him back his coffee mug. “I have a lot of things I need to look into before I move on, anyhow. Would you mind if I stuck around a few more hours to use the wireless connection here? I’ve got to research some new places for a tearoom.”

Guilt—both for denying her company at breakfast and for refusing to sell her the farm stand—weighed heavy on his shoulders.

“That’s fine,” he said slowly, distracted by the faint print of shiny lip gloss on the rim of his coffee mug. The urge to fit his mouth over that spot damn near overwhelmed him. “Stay as long as you need.”