Her Montana Millionaire

Her exotic scent washed over him, a blend of kiwi and citrus, colorful and wild.

“What perfume are you wearing?” he murmured, his mind muddled by the rounded weight of her breasts pressing into his chest.

“An original bouquet named after me by the perfumer.”

Well, la-de-dah. Since he was still smarting from her engagement confession as well as her inquiry into his sexual preferences—Barbra Streisand, his foot—he used a dash of sarcasm to respond. “Were you engaged to him, too?”

She arched over him, almost making Max groan with longing. “No. He keeps asking, but he’s not my type.”

It was enough to take away his steam. Max let go of Jinni, causing her to creep back to his coat blanket, tucking her knees under her with an unreadable expression on her face.

Why had he even entertained the notion that he could be attractive to this woman? He wasn’t the type to sweep ladies off their feet. When Eloise had left him, she’d made sure that she’d packed his ego right along with all her belongings. Hell, his self-confidence was probably on some Tibetan mountaintop at this moment.

She spoke, so softly that he wondered if it wasn’t just the breeze murmuring through the pines. “I thought so.”

He sat up, wanting to run his palm down her back, to feel the sleek shape of her body under the cape and dress.

“Thought what?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

For some reason she sounded so sad. Why would a woman who had men dripping from her fingertips be so down in the dumps?

They didn’t talk for a long time, just watched the dark sky pale with the promise of morning, listened to birds escort an elk from the cover of the trees and into their open field. After a few minutes the animal moseyed back into the safety of the pines.

Three movie stars, huh? That was some back list. Had those jet-setting men made her happy with their fast-lane parties and private love scenes?

She might be married if they had.

But three engagements? Damn. Jinni Fairchild seemed to go through men like most women went through hairdos.

“Jinni?”

She peeked over her shoulder at him, slapping Max with a sting of desire. Something about those lively eyes rubbed against the flint inside of him, creating sparks.

“Yes?”

“These movie star guys—”

“Let’s forget about them. Shall we?” Her smile froze on her face, hinting that maybe she regretted bringing up the subject in the first place.

“Fair enough.” He lay back down, tucking his arms under his head once again. “What’s your pleasure?”

A low, sultry laugh was his answer. Damn him. He’d intended to bait her with a suggestive comment, hadn’t he? Jinni was converting him to her flirty ways, and he was a sucker for it.

But he wouldn’t allow the fun to go too far. He couldn’t.

She also reclined on the ground again, and he was much too aware of her proximity, the length of her body next to his. They’d be a perfect match, skin to skin. Not like Eloise, where he’d had to worry about how tiny she felt in his arms, how he’d had to treat her like a delicate, porcelain doll. Jinni seemed so together. Unbreakable.

Still, if he ever had the chance to hold her, he knew he’d treasure the contact, would stroke her with soft caresses, anyway.

Damn, what was he thinking? Michael would shatter any hopes of a successful relationship with one sharp comment, one hard glare. Bringing home a woman would definitely put more of a strain on their already tenuous relationship.

“You’re suddenly reticent,” said Jinni.

“I’m holding on to the moment.”

“I see.”

Could she tell that he couldn’t afford to see her again? That this was the only peaceful moment he’d had in the past few years and it wouldn’t last forever?

“You just keep on holding,” said Jinni.

He smiled, closing his eyes. The wind brushed over his skin, but he wished it were Jinni’s fingertips instead.

The next thing he knew, he really did feel fingers coasting over his temple. His eyes blinked open to catch her touching him while a wisp of long, platinum hair fluttered against his chin, tickling it. Tendrils of dawn softened Jinni’s face as she smiled down at him.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He sat up, bringing her with him. “Did I doze off?”

“We both did.”

She was still so close that he could breathe in that scent she wore. So distinctive, so original, just like the woman herself.

“I’ve got to get you home,” he said, standing. He held out his hands, helping Jinni to her feet.

When she rose to her full height, she wavered against him, losing her balance for a second. Long legs and curves, pressing into him, pressing against his heart.

“I’ll drive. My car—” she held up an index finger “—rather, my sister’s car is parked at Joe’s Bar.”

“You want to hide yourself in a vehicle on a dawn like this?” He gestured toward the endless, blooming sky. “Who knows how long we’ll have this weather?”

Driving would be so much easier, true. But he didn’t want the night to end.

“Are you suggesting we walk home?”

He looked up and down her body, making Jinni bat one of those appreciative glances right back at him.

“You can’t stay in shape without exercising,” he said. “Right?”

“I do my time with a personal trainer, thank you. Exercising isn’t supposed to be practical.”

Max chuckled. “Welcome to the real world, Jinni. Out here some people labor to stay fit. You won’t catch many ranch hands jogging on a treadmill.”

She drew a finger down the front of his shirt, each button popping under her nail, echoing his self-control.

“Don’t tell me you’re some boy from the farm.”