Janis had been Fletch’s first brood mare, and the horse had obviously won his heart with her gentle disposition. He cared about the foal, too, but his biggest concern had been for Janis. Convinced that neither mare nor foal were in distress, Astrid scooted away to let Janis attend to her baby.
Fletch also sat back on his heels as the horse maneuvered so that she could lick her newborn clean. He gazed at the foal. “It’s a colt.”
“Yep. The ultrasound was right. You never can know for sure with those.”
A grin lit his face. “And four white socks, like his mother’s.”
“He’ll look a lot like her.”
“I’d hoped for that. And now it’s official. Buddy Holly is in residence at the Rocking G.”
Astrid laughed. “Yes, he certainly is. They both seem to be doing great.”
“I can order the nameplate for his stall now. I was too superstitious to do it before.” Fletch’s glance sought hers. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But after all, it’s my job.”
“I know, but you don’t treat it like a job. My previous vet did, which was why I stopped using him. I’ve watched you work with these animals. You put your heart and soul into it.”
She couldn’t imagine higher praise than that. “I love my work. That makes me a lucky lady.”
“And I’m lucky to have found you.”
Dear God, there was something more than friendship in those warm brown eyes. She swallowed. “Fletch . . .”
“I know.” His jaw firmed. “You’re my vet. I’m a client. I understand that could get complicated, but damn it, Astrid, does that mean we can’t . . .”
Her heart beat as if she were a wild creature suddenly trapped in a net. “I think it does mean that. My personal policy is not to date clients. Others might feel differently, but I don’t think it’s professional.”
“I could fire you.”
“You could.” That wouldn’t remove all the barriers. She’d still be a very rich woman and he would still be a financially strapped rancher. But he didn’t know about that issue.
“I don’t want to fire you.” He got to his feet. “You’re a fantastic vet, a thousand times better than the guy I had before. I can’t imagine having anyone else now that I’ve seen how you work.”
She took a deep breath and stood up, too. “I don’t want you to fire me, either.” She looked into his eyes, which mirrored the frustration she felt. “I love having you as a client.”
“But I don’t like the barriers that places between us. Couldn’t we keep our personal connection on the down-low?”
“Okay, let’s say we’re discreet.” She picked up her bag and walked out of the stall. “What if we discover somewhere down the line that we’re not right for each other? What happens to our client-vet relationship then?” She put down the bag and turned to face him as he stepped into the aisle.
His stance was wide, his expression calm—the epitome of confident male. “We wouldn’t discover that. You and I get along great.”
“In this setting we do, but . . .”
“But what?”
She pictured dragging him to some charity ball hosted by her wealthy friends, or coaxing him to attend the opening of a show by some new darling of the Dallas art community. She’d been inside Fletch’s home. He liked Western artists like Remington and Shoofly. He also didn’t seem like the tux-wearing type, but now wasn’t the time to reveal the difference in their lifestyles.
“Are you worried that we might not get along in bed?”
Oh, boy. Her hesitation had led him to the wrong conclusion. She wasn’t worried about that at all. “I—”
“Lady, we would burn up the sheets.” He smiled as he took a step closer. “And you damned well know we would.”
“Maybe.” The nearer he came, the faster her heart beat. It seemed to keep time with the rapid tattoo of the rain on the roof.
He chuckled. “I guarantee you do. I can see it in those baby blues. I wasn’t sure until this minute, when I finally got the courage to broach the subject, but we’re on the same page, you and I.”
“Okay, so I’m attracted to you, but acting on that attraction would be a really bad idea.”
He nodded. “You could be right. But that doesn’t keep me from wanting to kiss you.”
Oh. She should protest, should move back, out of the magic circle he’d created with his considerable charm. But she couldn’t seem to do that.
“I know you have reservations about getting involved with me.” He reached for her and cupped her face in his big hands.
She closed her eyes. That touch . . . so gentle, yet so sure. She’d imagined his touch for so long, and now she allowed herself to savor it.
“I respect that,” he murmured. “So for now, all I ask is for one kiss, to celebrate the arrival of a new foal.”
One kiss. One little kiss. Surely she could indulge herself a wee bit without compromising her principles. And they had successfully navigated Janis’s problem pregnancy. They both deserved a reward for that.
“One kiss.” His warm breath caressed her mouth, and his thumb brushed across her lower lip, urging her to open to him.
She didn’t need much urging. Here in the privacy of his barn, shrouded by rain and darkness, she could act out a fantasy months in the making. Yes. She’d kiss Fletcher Grayson.
And if this was the only liberty she ever allowed herself with this man, she would give it all she had.
Two
When Astrid parted her lips and issued a silent invitation for Fletch to invade that sweet mouth, a hot stab of lust nearly swamped his noble intentions. He beat back the red haze short-circuiting his brain. If he came on too strong now, he could ruin his chances in the future.
The effort of holding back made him tremble, but he managed to touch down gently. He couldn’t stop the groan that rumbled deep in his chest, though. His mouth fit hers with a kind of perfection he’d never known before.
As he settled in, the contact was so right that he became a little dizzy with the pleasure of it. The hitch in her breathing told him she wasn’t immune, either. That ate at his control, but he wouldn’t grab her and haul her into an empty stall mounded with fresh hay.
If he did that, they’d both be guilty of neglecting Janis and her foal. And he’d have broken his promise to give her one kiss, and one kiss only. He prided himself on being a man of his word.
Slowly, keeping himself in check, he began to explore her mouth with his tongue. She tasted like the coffee they’d had earlier, and the raspberry lifesavers he’d taken from his pocket to share with her. When he thrust his tongue deeper, she moaned.
That moan nearly undid him. Any woman who made that kind of sound would not object if he turned one kiss into two, or twenty. He sensed her surrender and fought not to take advantage of it. It was late. She was tired. Her defenses were down. Most important of all, Janis still needed them.
But her lips were so ripe, so ready. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d slid both hands from her cheeks to her collarbone. Unless he put those hands to work somewhere else, he’d go lower. He’d cup her br**sts, and then he’d unbutton her blouse. After that, all bets would be off.
Until he lifted his mouth, though, he was still involved in that one kiss he’d asked for. So he deepened that kiss and went to work on the clip she’d used to fasten her hair. Taking down her golden, silky hair wasn’t the same as stripping away her clothes.
Or so he told himself. Yet his blood heated as his fingers encountered those soft strands and released them from the clasp. He let it drop and delved into those tresses with greedy hands. He’d wanted to release her hair and feel its softness ever since they’d met.
She’d always imprisoned it in some way, whether with a clip, a bandana, or a tie. He understood the practicality of that while she worked, but he’d longed for this—to stroke her unbound hair and let it sift through his fingers. Her hair made him think of sunbeams, and the tactile pleasure of touching it caused him to imagine caressing her bare skin and kissing those tender, moist places that would inspire more moaning.
They would be good together. He knew it with an unshakable certainty. But willing as she might be now, if she lost track of her duty to her patient, she’d hate herself and him. That was no way to begin a love affair.
With thoughts of their shared responsibility to the mare and her foal, he lifted his head and stepped back, releasing her. His breathing was unsteady, but, thank God, so was hers. He wasn’t in this alone.
She opened her eyes slowly, and the heat in her gaze told him all he needed to know. Her passion matched his. Now all he had to do was convince her that surrendering to it, in a more appropriate time and place, wouldn’t brand her as unprofessional.
He understood the stakes, but he was willing to risk losing an excellent vet in order to gain . . . he wasn’t ready to put a name to it. Not yet. He and Astrid needed more time, more intimacy, before he could think in those terms. But he saw the possibilities, and they were breathtaking.
His parents were a couple who had known the kind of devotion he yearned for in a partner. Now that he was older and could handle his grief, he could view the car accident as a blessing for them, in some ways. If either had survived alone, the pain of losing the other would have been crippling.