Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) (7 page)

Again she was reminded of a wolf running down a cow, nipping at her heels, heading her—somewhere.

“Don’t you have a ranch to run? You need to spend your afternoons in your office going over the Double-Q books. This place looks like it’s going to wrack and ruin.”

She could see that she’d scored a hit on that comment. He stopped his teasing, which should have made her happy, but when he picked up his coffee and headed for the waiting paperwork, Lucy felt guilty looking at the tired slope of his shoulders when he walked away.

She followed him to the office and handed him the plate. “Don’t forget your cake. Brody will be disappointed if you don’t appreciate her thoughtfulness.”

She peered past him into the dim interior. The room sorely needed a good cleaning. She focused on the dirt and grime instead of the man who’d aroused her angry passion.

* * * * *

Ambrose lay on the bed in the spare room sweating from the heat and suffering a throbbing ache in his groin. He shifted, trying to find some form of comfort. He considered using his hand but didn’t. He’d been cocked and ready ever since he’d leaned over Lucy earlier in the kitchen. It didn’t matter how much he told himself to hold back and not demand her attention, he couldn’t help himself.

The creak of a door opening and closing sounded from the hall. Either one of the kids was up doing some night wandering or Lucy was awake and roaming the house.

He hoped it was the latter, his cock jerking at the thought of being alone with her in the darkness of the lower rooms. He eased off the mattress and pulled on his pants, not bothering to don shirt or shoes.

He knew it was Lucy when he caught the aroma of cinnamon and woman in the hall. Like a wolf after tasty prey, he stalked her on silent feet.

He expected to find her in the kitchen, since she seemed to find endless tasks to be completed there. But he heard a rustling from the opposite end of the house where his office was located.

His anticipation turned to anger as he neared the room and saw a dim light spilling through the door.
What in the hell is she doing, snooping in my business?

Thoughts of seduction receded and he prepared to catch her red-handed at whatever she was sneaking around hiding.  He couldn’t distinguish her words and held back in the shadow outside the door. Dust floated heavily in the air where she’d been moving his business papers around.

“Pigsty…
mumble, mumble, mumble
.” He straightened, insulted. She had no right to point out his disarray to others. And who in the hell was with her? He stepped through the door, interrupting her litany of complaints as he looked for her audience.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing in here? This is my office and I’ll be goddamned if you…” His voice trailed off as he saw what she was up to.

His books were off the bookcase and, with a rag tied around her head and a duster in her hand, she was attacking the three years’ worth of dirt on the wooden shelves. A pail of water sat next to her, ready for the cleaning cloths to be dunked, wrung and then used again.

“Mr. Quince.” She stammered, staring at him. “I’m straightening up in here.” Before he could say spit, she said defensively, “I’ve slopped hogs in areas cleaner than this. I cannot abide this kind of filth.”

When he simply stood, looking at her in amazement, she threw an apron at him. “Cover yourself and get to work. There’s papers here I don’t want to mess with and you can sort and organize them while I wash the grit off the desk.”

Reflexively he grabbed the apron before it hit him in the face “You don’t think this could be better done in the daytime?” His anger disappeared under a tide of humor and desire. She was cute as a button standing there all trussed up in her dirt-fighting gear. And for once, she wasn’t snapping at him.

“I just can’t abide dirt.” Then, shame-faced, she admitted, “I couldn’t sleep worrying about my mean words. I thought to get a head start on the day and clean in here.”

Ambrose took in her stubborn expression. He knew she wouldn’t leave the room dirty and she knew he wasn’t going to leave her alone the rest of the night to clean it on her own. He hid his grin. They were making progress.

This woman was like a magnet, pulling feelings from his soul that he’d thought long dead. More tangible parts of him were rising too, and he shifted his legs, trying to disguise his arousal.

“I’ll get some clothes on and help you.” Before she could withdraw her ordered invitation, he hurried up the steps, taking them two at a time. Dressed and ready to do her bidding, he smiled as he returned to battle dirt and grime by her side.

It was pretty sorry-looking. A stack of books he’d just shelved leaned precariously in the corner. Dust motes drifted in the air, tickling his nose and he sneezed three times.

“Bless you,” Lucy responded at the same time she handed him a square wooden box with a suggestion. “You could put your business records in here. Later, we can clear out the unwanted and unnecessary and address the pressing concerns.”

Ambrose liked the way she kept saying
we,
so he let her boss him, feeling her gain confidence as he took orders and obeyed her directions. When she wasn’t watching him, he was giving her the once- and twice-over.

She was layered protectively in nightgown and robe. Both were wrapped in an old cook’s apron, a voluminous affair matching the one she’d thrown at him. Her bare feet, incongruously erotic, peeked from under her dusty armor.

Several strands of brown hair had escaped from the braid hanging down her back. He stepped closer, tucking a dangling wisp under the scarf swathed around her head. When she flinched, he pretended not to notice, stepped away and kept working.

Lucy relaxed and continued cleaning, resuming her muttered warnings about cobwebs and vermin. “I swear if a rat pokes its head out from this mess I won’t be surprised.”

“Naw,” he joked. “Nothin’ in here for it to eat.”

She held up his empty cake plate from earlier in the day, grimacing at the smear of chocolate he’d missed. “Dirty plates should be returned to the kitchen,” she scolded. “You’re inviting rodents in. I had a terrible time keeping them out of the Robin’s Nest kitchen.”

“You trap ’em?” he asked, encouraging the first voluntary nugget she’d shared from her time away from him.

She tilted her head, giving him a sharp look. “No. I found a varmint-hunting cat and learned to shoot a gun. Nothing bothered me much after that.”

“That’d do it,” he agreed, half expecting a cat to appear since he knew she was armed with her gun.

“I owe you an apology.” Her voice was so low he had to lean closer to make certain it was him she was saying her regrets to and not another long ramble to herself.

He bristled, suddenly not interested in hearing her apology
. Sorry? Hell, yes, you should be sorry. Bad things happened to you but that sure as hell doesn’t wash out the fact you ran off.

He straightened, throwing the dust rag on the desk. It knocked off a pile of papers, scattering them by her foot. The move startled her and she winced, quickly putting distance between them. He didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm when he asked, “And why would you be sorry?”

“I had no call to criticize your bookkeeping.” She paused, batting away a cloud of dust rising from the stack of yellowed newspapers that had fallen. “Or the time you
don’t
spend doing it,” she added ironically. “I see how stretched you are to cover all that needs to be done around this place.”

Even in the dim light, her blue-green eyes sparkled, holding his gaze for a moment and leaving him in no doubt of her sincerity. His savage anger melted and he started dusting again, focusing on her body and not her former actions.

Dammit.
Ambrose sucked in air, trying to control his lust. After three years without intimacy, his senses were so overwhelmed he found himself staring at her lips and hips instead of listening to her words. He pulled his mind back to attention in time to hear her offer.

“I do the books for the Robin’s Nest. I could help you get these brought current—a business, be it cattle or flapjacks, needs to keep good records.”

He stifled his automatic, “When pigs fly!” focusing on the sultry swell of her bottom lip. “Maybe,” he grunted.

Maybe
they would put more than their heads together. Even though she didn’t advertise it like she had in the old days, Lucy still had a ripe fullness about her that drew the eye. He wanted to peel away the layers of material between them so that he could examine all of her.

She seemed so much smaller than the Lucy McKenna he’d married. She wasn’t built the same way either. Luce had always carried extra weight in her stomach and hips.

He’d liked the soft roundness of his wife’s belly when he pressed into her and her breasts had been high and firm, begging for his mouth—but he’d never noticed them being larger than average.

Now, even hidden beneath apron, heavy robe and nightgown, this Lucy’s breasts were full and rounded, making him want to sample their tender plumpness. Her stomach had thinned down too. When he penetrated her, he’d go deep, his groin hugging tight against her mound. His vision of their coupling was so intense he had to stifle a groan.

He didn’t realize he stood staring at her chest until she cleared her throat and said dryly, “If you can quit looking at my unmentionables long enough, bring that box over here. There’s another pile of work under this chair.”

Shoved under a tray on the floor, she’d come upon copies of the notes he’d signed for loans from the Eclipse Bank.

Before he could wrest them from her hands, she scanned them, then handed them over to be put in the box with the other documents. He tucked the papers out of sight without comment.

By the time they finished cleaning the ranch office it looked like a new room. He even carried the rug outside when she insisted it needed to be aired out. Once hung over the line, she took up a carpet beater and tied into it.

Ambrose covered her hand with his, holding her arm still, drawing her closer to him. He said gruffly, “Sweetheart, Alex can do this today for you. Come on back into the kitchen and have a cup of coffee.”
Or me, come into the house and have me for breakfast.

As if she could read his thoughts, she relinquished the club, backing away from him, her expression wary. Her voice was husky when she asked, “When did you put on the pot?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted gruffly, reining in his lust at her half-scared expression. “But if I can rescue this rug you’re tearing into and convince you to cook some breakfast, I might get to eat a bite before Hamilton rides in and takes the better part of the food for himself. I’ve got another full day of work before me.”

Evidently relieved to get shut of him, Lucy hurried inside to make coffee.

Ambrose stood in the ranch yard with the rug-beater in his hand, trying to cool down. If he didn’t get a grip on his control before he went to breakfast, the woman who had once been his wife was going to find her nightgown up and her back against the kitchen wall.

He sucked in his breath, picturing the possibility. Dunking his head into the water trough brought him back to his senses. He pulled off his shirt and wiped his face before shaking his hair as if he were a dog shedding water.

He was still dripping when he got to the back door. Lucy frowned at his bare chest, pointed at the trail of water he’d left behind and threw him a towel. The dunking in the trough hadn’t done the job. He wanted to leap across the space separating them and…

“What kind of loans do you have from the Eclipse Bank?” Her question brought him up short. He had to give her credit for one thing. Unlike the old Lucy, she didn’t mix her words with pouts and flirtation when she was after an answer.

“None of your business.” Old rage and rekindled lust propelled him across the floor.

He crowded her against the wall as he’d wanted to earlier, caging her with his arms as he leaned close to say it again. “Double-Q business is none—of—your—business. I’m the only part of the Double-Q ranch you need to concern yourself with.”

“Why, you arrogant ass,” she hissed, shoving against him. “I’m concerned about my children. You I don’t care about at all.”

Ambrose pulled her into his arms, molding her body to his. “Let me see if I can change your mind,” he growled. It was like embracing a block of ice but he persisted, determined he would thaw her and reclaim what had once been his. He cupped the back of her head, tilting it for better access as he kissed her. “Remember me,” he demanded against her lips.

She said something but the buzz of heat pulsing through him muted his hearing. “I need you to be my wife again.” He punctuated his words with the brush of his lips before forcing his tongue through her teeth.

She moaned, swaying in his arms, and he gathered her closer, loving her with his mouth the way he wanted to love her with his cock—stroking slow and deep, tasting every part of her mouth’s wet heat.

When he lifted his head to look at her he found her terrified, not aroused. Her skin was blanched of color, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Lucy, honey, what—”

When her knee connected with his groin, the force nearly lifted him from the floor, leaving him doubled over and retching.