- -
- 100%
- +
He’d really had her going with all that talk about how it was possible she had a claim. Which made him showing her the outdoor pit of a bathroom seem cruel. It certainly set her on edge.
Once she’d calmed down and realized that was likely his game plan, she decided on her strategy. It wouldn’t be light for much longer, but he was still cussing at the tractor when she walked to her car.
Mutt trotted over to her and Trent looked up. She opened her trunk, then glanced around, scoping out the floodlight under the eave of the barn, the pair on either side of the stable door.
“The bulb’s burned out,” Trent said, gesturing to the barn. “I’ll get around to changing it sooner or later.”
“No problem.” She pulled the flashlight from her emergency kit, as well as extra batteries. Well, it was more of a spotlight, which was perfect, though she doubted she’d need it for long.
“I have a twelve-foot ladder if you want to change the bulb,” he said and swung up into the tractor seat.
“Maybe I will.” She smiled, closed the trunk. “But not today.”
His eyes narrowed at her, but his curiosity was forgotten the second the engine started. “Yes!” He sunk back in his seat and stared up at the sky. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
Shelby smiled. She couldn’t have cared less about his tractor victory except that his improved mood might extend to her.
“Have you been working on it long?”
“A couple days.” He gunned the engine, then turned to her. His gaze lingered on her bare legs, then swept to her T-shirt. The instant he met her eyes, the flicker of interest died, and his expression changed. “How about that, sweetheart? You might’ve brought me some luck.”
The phony endearment grated on her ears. Letting it go was the smart thing to do. She suspected he’d meant to irritate her. Maybe not. Some guys were still Neanderthals. But for some reason she doubted Trent was one of them.
You can catch more flies with honey, she reminded herself. She forced a smile that she suspected came out all wrong. “Since it appears we’ll be roommates for a while, I think we should be completely honest with each other.”
“Come again?”
“Honest about—”
He angled toward her and ran a hand through his dark hair. “No, the first part.”
Instead of fixating on the bunching bicep straining his sleeve she rolled her eyes. “Housemates, if you want to be technical, but not the point. You should know that I don’t appreciate being called sweetheart.”
His mouth curved in a lazy arrogant smile. “Good to know,” he said and jumped down. “Now, you mind moving out of my way so I can finish up...sweetheart.”
Shelby pressed her lips together. Why hadn’t she seen that coming? No sense trying to reason with a mule. She told herself she’d be the bigger person and not respond in kind.
He motioned to her car. “Park closer to the stable.” He picked up a toolbox and looked at her again. “By the way, we aren’t roommates or housemates, whatever. Out of the goodness of my heart, you’re my guest.”
“You deprive all your guests of bathroom and kitchen privileges?”
“Only the unwanted ones,” he said over his shoulder, already returning his attention to the tractor. “Which reminds me, later we’ll go over your chores. Hope you’re an early riser. Lots of work to be done on a ranch.”
His back to her, she gave him a one-finger salute. And hoped Violet hadn’t seen it from a window.
As Shelby rounded the front of her car, she noticed that he’d fixed the corral railings. Holding in a grin, she paused at the driver’s door. “They’re crooked.”
“What?” He turned and frowned at her, before following her gaze.
“The rails.” She tilted her head to the side. “They’re slanting to the left.”
“Like hell.” He glanced back at her, then grudgingly mirrored her head angle to study his handiwork.
“I guess it doesn’t matter.” Afraid she couldn’t keep a straight face, she opened the door. Yes, she was messing with him. The bastard deserved it.
“Which one?”
“Both,” she said and slid into the leather bucket seat, grinning behind the tinted windows.
* * *
TRENT SMELLED THE beans and cornbread the second he entered the house. And something else that made his stomach growl. Ham, maybe? He didn’t have any in the fridge or freezer. Shelby had to have brought it with her, or maybe the suddenly helpful Violet had made another delivery while he was watering the horses.
Earlier he’d made a tactical error. The microwave sat on a cart on Shelby’s side of the kitchen. Had he thought quickly, he would’ve rolled it over to his side before he’d duct-taped the place. He used the microwave more than he did the stove or oven.
He ducked his head into the kitchen. Shelby wasn’t there and no food had been left out. He checked the fridge and found only the beans and cornbread, so he took out leftover roasted chicken legs to go with it. Not that he had any idea how to heat up everything without the microwave.
He’d washed up some in the barn but he still needed a shower. The bathroom door was open, and the one to Shelby’s room closed. Much as it irritated him, he returned to the kitchen and heaped a portion of the food onto a pie tin and stuck it in the oven at a low heat. He briefly considered cheating. All he had to do was keep the microwave from dinging, but if she caught him that would screw up everything.
They would have to renegotiate and he had no intention of making this easy on her. Not only was she trying to take his home away from him—the only home he had left—she was also killing him parading around in those shorts. She had great legs, and he figured she knew it. He’d finally managed to curb errant thoughts of sex during the day, and given himself free reign during showers and bedtime. In a matter of minutes she’d screwed that up for him.
Thinking about the expression on her face when she saw the barn bathroom made him feel better. Wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d gotten in her car and left then and there. Damn, he wished she would have. It wasn’t in his nature to be ugly like that, Violet notwithstanding.
But Shelby had recovered quickly. And he expected that she’d already snuck in a bathroom visit or two while he was outside. That didn’t bother him. She’d be forced to go to the barn sooner or later, and just one time would do it. If the sorry condition of the toilet didn’t, the feral cat that lived part-time in the barn would probably scare some sense into her. The woman didn’t belong here. And Trent was just helping her see that.
The sooner she left, the happier he’d be. Working alone, his schedule was ruthless. Having to think about her was already costing him. So every time his inner voice said he’d never force a lady to use the barn bathroom, he shut it down. This was just another woman trying to take what was his. No warning. No nothing. He couldn’t deal with another loss. Not now. Maybe never.
He took a faster shower than usual. Partly so his supper wouldn’t burn, but mostly out of self-preservation. The moment his soapy hand had touched his cock, his thoughts had gone straight to Shelby. Instead of indulging, he’d turned the water on cold. And cursed her until all the soap ran off his body. It was a sorry day when a man couldn’t even shower in peace.
Her bedroom door was still closed when he settled on the couch with his food and turned on the TV. He’d almost finished eating and was considering seconds when he heard her door open.
He knew she was moving around just behind him but he stayed focused on the television. If she was going outside she’d have to leave via the kitchen.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Would you mind flipping on the porch light? It’s on your side of the house.”
“No problem.” Holding back a grin, he rose with his plate in hand. “I put the stable lights on for—”
Shelby was naked.
Almost.
All she wore was a blue towel. It wrapped around her breasts, tucked in at the side and ended high on her thighs. Another towel was draped over her arm and she held a bar of soap in one hand, a flashlight in the other. On her feet she wore bright yellow flip-flops.
“It seems I forgot to pack my robe,” she said, glancing down at herself. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m just running out to the barn.”
Trent couldn’t find his voice. He couldn’t look away. Trying to swallow didn’t help. His mouth was too dry. “You were wrong,” he finally muttered. “They weren’t crooked.” He flipped the light switch then walked past her, looking straight ahead, as if he had on blinders. “Go ahead, use the front door if you want.”
“What wasn’t crooked?”
Jesus, why had she followed him into the kitchen? “The rails.” He set his plate and fork in the sink, and for the life of him, couldn’t recall where he kept the dish detergent. “I used a level.”
“Oh. False alarm. Sorry.” She smelled good, standing somewhere behind him. Not that he was about to look. “Oops!”
He turned his head.
She was rearranging the towel. “Almost lost the sucker,” she said, pulling the terrycloth snugger.
Her breasts swelled and plumped over the top with each small tug of the towel. He could barely drag his gaze away.
Talk about playing dirty. She was baiting him. And it was working. All the blood and oxygen had rushed south leaving his brain to fend for itself.
Man, he didn’t want to fold this early in the game.
He caught himself staring again and forced his attention back to the sink.
“Okay, well,” she said, “thanks.”
“Sure.” He heard the kitchen door open and close, and he slowly lifted his head for a clear shot of her out the window.
Only he couldn’t see her. What did she do, turn the wrong way? How could she miss the barn?
The hinges squeaked as the door opened. He barely had a second to lower his chin.
“I need to take some clothes. Or I’ll have to come back in a wet towel,” she said with a soft laugh as she crossed the kitchen.
It took all of a second for him to imagine her wearing nothing but a wet towel plastered to her body. His heart pounding like a Derby winner at the finish line, he ordered himself not to watch her exit, then gave up and looked. She was taking her sweet time, making a show of staying on her side of the duct tape.
The woman’s legs were world class, no argument from him. And if he’d had the slightest doubt she was toying with him, it was gone. Guess it was time to prove he was made of stronger stuff than being a dope for a half-naked woman.
He turned to face her, leaned back against the counter and glanced at Mutt, who was curled up by the door. “Hey, boy.” The dog looked up. Trent nodded at Shelby. “Fetch the towel.”
She froze. Her eyes widened at Mutt, who had no clue what the command meant.
Trent smiled and watched her take off to her room as if she had the hounds of Baskerville on her heels.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.