Her Only Desire Read Free Page B

mud beneath the gravel held firm and her foot slipped out of her pump. She tumbled to the side, gasping, hands outstretched to break her fall, her bag sliding away.
    The dog leapt into her lap, nipping at her skirt and sleeve.
    “Dammit,” she muttered, forcing the dog from her lap and trying to rise. He caught the hem of her skirt and she went down again, this time on her hands and knees. Kneeling in her skirt, her right knee stinging from abrasions, she glared at the little yipping dog.
    The large man in coveralls scooped up the dog. “Bad Max, bad dog.” He turned away without an apology.
    Of all the nerve.
Her mouth gaped and she glared.
    “Let me help you.”
    Startled, her gaze shot upward. Her breath caught on a shocked inhalation as a face hovered over hers—dark, short-cropped hair with a hint of unruly curl, dark lashes framing ice-blue eyes. A prominent, masculine nose and square jaw saved his face from being too perfect.
    She’d known he was handsome—her memory and the Internet had prepared her for that. What she wasn’t ready for was his sheer physicality. But then she remembered he’d spent time in the navy. Perhaps he’d kept to the discipline. He wore dark dress slacks and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves casually rolled up to reveal tanned forearms that were thickly muscled. His shoulders were broad, his hips trim, his thighs big as tree trunks…
    Her blood pounded in her ears. Good Lord, how long had she been staring?
    Boone Benoit held out his hand. “Come. I promise I only murder pretty girls on their birthdays.”
    What might have been a joke coming from any other man sounded bitter. As bitter as the twist of his firm lips.
    She reached tentatively to accept his hand and found herself dragged up and pressed against his body. Immediately she stepped back and nearly fell again, forgetting she’d lost three inches of height on one foot.
    His hands grasped her waist to steady her, and then quickly let her go. He knelt and plucked her heel from where it was lodged in the ground and tapped his thigh, commanding her to rest her foot on his body.
    The act was unthinkable, what he suggested…with so many gazes upon them. Her pulse raced.
    The chainsaw had stopped. The gardeners straightened and stared.
    A blush suffused her face, and she held out her hand. “I can manage on my own.”
    His head tilted to the side, blue eyes narrowing. “Would you deprive me of the pleasure?”
    His tone was unexpected, startling in its rumbling sensuality. Already flushed with humiliation, now her skin tingled for an entirely different reason. His words conjured images of other pleasures. Sensual pleasures. And she had no doubt he’d done it deliberately.
    Without another thought for their audience, she placed a hand on his muscled shoulder and raised her foot, toes pointing downward. Thank goodness she’d treated herself to a pedicure. The soft shell-pink polish and smooth heels were far more presentable now than they’d been the day before.
    His hand turned and cupped her heel. He slowly slid on the shoe, tilting it at the last moment to set it firmly in place. The moment stretched, his hand slid up the back of her calf, a subtle movement that anyone watching might have missed. “Are you a runner?”
    Shock made her shiver. All he’d needed was a single gliding touch to know that? “I was.”
    “Your calves are very nicely defined.”
    “Thank you,” she murmured breathlessly, pleased although the comment was completely inappropriate.
    “I’m sorry Max startled you.”
    “I’m fine,” she bit out, too off-kilter to censor her stiff tone.
    Before she could gather the nerve to move her heel from his thigh, he folded up the hem of her skirt. “You’re bleeding.”
    “It’s nothing,” she said, embarrassed by the attention and her clumsiness.
    With a slow move, he set her foot on the ground and rose.
    Good Lord, he’s tall
, she thought as she followed his movements. Her gaze was in line with the