The Man Who Had Everything

“It’s…a beautiful day, don’t you think?” Oh, Lord. How lame could she get?

“Steph…” His eyes said he couldn’t make up his mind between reaching out and grabbing her—or jumping up and running clean away from her as fast as he could go.

“A beautiful day…” She said those lame words again and that time, she swayed toward him. He stiffened. She landed against his chest and looked up at him longingly. “And it’s just you and me, all alone on this blanket under the trees…” She put her hand over his heart. Oh, it felt so good. So perfect, just leaning against him. Her breath was all knotted up in her throat. She wanted to stay right where she was, forever, yet she was absolutely certain that any second now, he would push her away.

But he didn’t. With a low groan, he gathered her close. “Damn it, Steph.”

She laid a finger against his wonderful mouth. “Shh. Okay? Just…shh.”

He stared down at her. She could feel the warmth and the strength of him, the shape of him, so hard and manly. And cradled close against him like this, she could feel his heart, too, beating away in there, firm and deep. He said gruffly, “I can’t…think, when I touch you.”

“Good,” she told him, feeling braver now, her love and her yearning leading her on. “Because you don’t need to think. I don’t want you to think.”

His lip twitched. It was almost a smile. “Always so damn sure of yourself.”

“Oh, no,” she cried. “I’m not sure of myself at all. But I am sure about how I feel. Sure about…what I want.”

“This is crazy.” But his arms tightened around her.

“Oh, no. Not crazy. Right. Exactly right.”

“You smell like sunshine,” he whispered, the sound rough, as if it hurt him, just to get those words out. “And the way you feel, in my arms, when I touch you…”

“Just kiss me,” she whispered back, lifting her mouth to him. “Just kiss me and the rest will take care of itself.”

“Shouldn’t…” The single word came out on another groan.

“Oh, yes. You should…” So…heady. This magic. This power she was finding she had over him. The magic of wanting. The power of desire.

Who knew it could be like this between a man and woman? She never would have guessed. Every nerve in her body seemed to be singing. She was shivery—but with wonderful, heavy, lazy heat.

“Damn. You’re killing me, you know that?”

“Oh, Grant…”

He took her by the arms then, and she was sure all over again that he would set her away from him.

But in the end, he only grabbed her closer as his warm mouth swooped down and covered hers.

Oh, it was amazing. Her senses swam at the feel of him, pressing her close, his hands stroking her back as his tongue traced the seam where her lips met. With a sigh, she let them part for him.

He speared his tongue inside. She sucked on it, boldly, and when he retreated, she followed him, into the warm, hot cave beyond those wonderful lips of his.

She clutched his shoulders as he guided her down onto the blanket. He kissed her more deeply, still, his tongue delving in, sweeping along the edges of her teeth, stroking her own tongue in a long, wet glide.

Oh, it was heaven.

Just as she’d dreamed it might be.

His hand cupped her breast. Beneath her shirt and bra, her nipple hardened, aching. She moaned and lifted her body toward him, wanting more.

Wanting everything. Ready to have it all, at last, right there, on that blanket, in the lovely, shadowed, private place beneath the birch trees…

To have it all with Grant, as she’d always dreamed. To be fully a woman at last, with the only man she’d ever loved.

He kissed her chin, nipping it, whispering her name against her eager flesh. He kissed the side of her neck, opening his mouth there, licking her skin, making her shiver in the most delicious way…

He kissed the hollow of her throat and she stretched her neck back, spearing her fingers into his hair, cupping his head and cradling him close, urging him to kiss her some more, to keep on kissing her.

To never stop.

“Oh, Grant,” she whispered, “Oh, Grant. Yes. Please. Yes…”

His warm hand trailed downward. She wanted… more.

To be closer, to have his hand there, where she was aching and yearning, hot and eager. To have him, completely. To be with him in the most passionate, intimate way.

She moaned his name again.

And then, out of nowhere, for no reason at all…he tore himself away from her. With a low groan, and a guttural, “No!” he was gone.

“Grant?” She opened her eyes to see him sitting back on his bent legs, his strong hands on his knees, face flushed, mouth swollen, eyes heavy with the same need that made her legs and arms feel weighted, that made her body so lazy and hungry and hot. She lifted yearning arms to him. “Come back here. Back here to me…”

He swore. “No. This is all wrong. I didn’t come here for this.”

“But I don’t…”

“Damn it, Steph. Listen. Listen to me.”

Stunned, punch-drunk with longing, she dragged herself to a sitting position. “I don’t understand. What’s the matter? What happened?”

He rocked back on his stocking feet and rose above her. She stared up at him, so tall and strong, glaring down at her, the leaves of the birches rustling above his head, the blue, clear sky beyond…

A sudden chill swept through her. She wrapped her arms around herself against a cold that came from deep inside. “What? Say it. Whatever it is, just please, say it. Now.”

And at last, he did. “I came out here to tell you I’m selling Clifton’s Pride.”

Chapter Five

Grant stared down into her flushed, bewildered face. Right then, there were no words to describe how thoroughly he despised himself. As he watched, the hectic color drained from her cheeks and her mouth formed a round, shocked O.

On a husk of breath, she pleaded, “No…”

He forced a nod. “Yeah. It’s true. I’m selling the ranch.”

She gaped some more, then whispered, “When?”

“I’m signing the contract today, at four-thirty.”