The Rancher's Untamed Heart (9 page)

“Naomi,” I heard Clint said quietly.

I jumped and quickly put my phone down. Had he said my name a few times? He was definitely smirking at me.

“Yes!” I said, “Yes, sorry. That’s the worst game.”

“Catching up on work?” he asked, a half-smile on his face.

“I caught up, you were still reading,” I said at once.

“Well, nothing was too terrible, I did sign everything that you wanted,” he said.

“Thank you, I really appreciate your cooperation” I said.

I waited a long minute before I spoke again. It didn’t look like Clint would, he simply watched me, that small smile still on his handsome mouth.

“Okay, I don’t know what to do here,” I said. I picked up my phone and started turning it over again and again in my hands.

Clint raised his eyebrows, seeming totally at his ease. Ugh. How could he be that calm?

“Normally, I’d be standing up, shaking your hand, and heading off home, but normally, I’ve not kissed the ranch owner I’m dealing with,” I said, “So, what are we doing here?”

“You’re not a subtle one, are you?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said, firmly.

“There are no ropes in my office,” he said.

“Sorry? What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

“Brandon was trying to get us alone, and I could have told him where to shove it and taken you there, to work like professionals,” he said.

“Oh,” I murmured, hope rising in my chest.

“I’ve never brought an inspector, salesman, or lawyer into my kitchen,” he said, “Just to be clear. You’re the first.”

“I’ve never kissed a client in a barn,” I said.

“Outside a barn?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re the first,” I said.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, “I like you, Naomi.”

Wow. It had been a long time since any man had said something kind or flattering to me, and I found myself blushing at Clint’s matter-of-fact words.

“I like you,” I said.

He reached over and plucked the phone out of my hands.

“You’re going to shake that poor thing to death,” he said.

“It’s not alive,” I protested.

“Naomi,” he said, softly. He was staring at me intently now, and I squirmed at the heat in his gaze.

“Yes?” I asked.

He took my hand and pulled me closer to him, until our faces were a hand’s width apart.

“Do you still want me?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I began, but I was cut off by his mouth sealing itself to mine.

The kiss was long and tender. My eyelids fluttered shut and I leaned into his touch, melting at the sweetness.

The next kiss was deeper and more passionate, his tongue questing between my lips and plundering my mouth.

I lost track of the kisses after that, but finally, I couldn’t stand not touching him any more and I pulled back, breaking our embrace.

He looked at me as I stood up, and smiled as I closed the distance between us and straddled his lap, so that I could kiss him and feel his broad chest against me.

I don't know how long we spent pushing the limit of that kitchen chair.

His chest against mine felt as strong, hot, and firm as I'd remembered, and I tried to resist the urge to rub myself against him like a cat, just enjoying the feel of his body against mine.

Occasionally when I squirmed on his lap, he groaned into my mouth, and I'd grin and repeat the motion. After a few rounds of that, he grabbed my hips in his broad hands and pulled me close against him, holding me still.

It didn't stop me from rocking back and forth against his jeans, feeling his body respond to mine, both of us full of hot need.

I loved the feeling of his hands holding me in place. He was gentle with me, but he was clearly so much more powerful than me, and I liked that in a man. I wanted to feel small and delicate when I felt a man's broad hands against me, and Clint's ranch-weathered body was more than up to the task.

He pulled his mouth away from mine, and I whimpered at the loss, but groaned in approval as he kissed a desperate line down my jaw. Hot flicks of his tongue on my ear almost undid me, and that wasn't anything I'd ever known that I liked before him.

I groaned his name and ordered him not to stop, and he chuckled into my neck, kissing a slow line down to where my shirt started.

"May I touch you?" he asked, sliding his hands from my hips, over my shirt, to just underneath my breasts.

"You'd better," I grumbled.

He chuckled again and obediently cupped my chest in his large hands, gently stroking the tops with his thumbs.

"Oh, yes," I said, "Yes, just like that."

He captured my lips again, not moving his hands, continuing his slow teasing of my body.

When he released my lips, I groaned his name and he nodded against me.

"Yeah," he grunted, before kissing me again, "Yeah."

His clever fingers found my nipples and started gently tugging the hard nubs, not enough to hurt, just a gentle pressure against the aching flesh.

"More," I said, pulling my mouth away from his briefly, before claiming it again in a searing kiss of my own.

His hands skimmed down over my body again, finding the hem of my shirt and pulling at it.

"Off?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, leaning back and raising my arms so he could pull it over my head.

He grinned at the sight of my chest in the little bra, and reached around me to fiddle with the clasp.

"This too?" he asked.

I nodded and rocked back, panting and flushed, sitting on his strong thighs.

When my breasts were totally revealed to him, he groaned and pulled my chest to his mouth, finding one of my nipples and flicking his tongue against it, mimicking the motion with his fingers on my other hard nub.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, which he didn't object to, as he kept his mouth on me, tormenting me with the touch of his lips, his tongue, all over my chest.

He pulled away for a minute and straightened, looking down at me.

"I love it when you groan for me," he said, and I laughed. I hadn't even realized that I was making noise.

"I'm definitely enjoying myself," I said.

"I can tell," he said.

He took my nipple between his fingertips and rolled it, making me arch and gasp.

I reached out for the buttons of his work shirt and started to undo them, my fingers fumbling as he distracted me with his own.

"Just get it off," I finally said.

He pulled his hands away from my body reluctantly and started working on the buttons, faster than I was managing.

"I want to see you so badly," I said, staring as the tight white undershirt was revealed.

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss my neck as he continued to unbutton his shirt, his hands working quickly between our bodies.

"Couch?" he asked.

"What?" I asked.

He grinned, pulling the overshirt off over his head.

"Do you want to go to the couch? It's right over there and we'd be more comfortable," he said.

I hopped off his lap and turned to find a better surface for getting to know his body.

"Oh, yes," I heard him say, before I squealed as he picked me up and tossed me gently over his shoulder.

I hadn't been picked up like that by a lover before, and I laughed and squealed as I hung, eye-level with his ass.

He navigated the divider between the kitchen and living room and crossed to the couch in a few long strides, tossing me onto the soft sofa and immediately covering my body with his own, trapping me beneath him and leaning down to suck at my collarbone.

He pulled off for a moment and looked me in the eye.

"This okay?" he asked.

"God, yes," I said. I squirmed against him, my hands roaming over his body, which was almost firmer than I could have imagined. Every muscle was defined, and I traced them with little sweeps of my fingers. He wasn't just lean and strong, I discovered. He had to work half-naked most of the year, he didn't have the farmer's tan that I half-expected to find under his clothing.

I was so lucky. Clint was over six feet of bronzed perfection, and he was exploring my body with fascination and delight.

My need for him was reaching a fever pitch, and I reached down between our bodies to find his belt, and started working on the supple leather to get him naked.

He reacted as though I'd poured cold water over him, climbing off of me, breathing heavily, and shutting his eyes.

"Too far," he muttered.

"What?" I asked, sitting up on his couch, naked from the waist up.

He headed back to the kitchen without a word.

I sat still and quiet, confused and hurt. No longer comfortable, I crossed my arms over my chest.

"What the hell?" I asked, as he came back, carrying our discarded clothing.

He passed me my shirt and bra and sat down on the other end of the couch, looking sheepish as he started to get dressed again.

"I'm sorry," he said, "That wasn't fair to you. I've never lost control of myself like that before."

"What the hell?" I repeated.

My fingers shook as I put my bra and shirt back on and pulled a pillow into my lap, holding it tightly and glaring at Clint. I'd thought we were having fun!

"I'm messing all this up," he said, plainly. Dressed again, he turned on the couch to lean his back against the arm and stick his feet up on the seat.

"Look, Naomi," he said, arms loose at his side, "I meant to talk to you, I didn't mean to, uh, lose control like that."

I seriously considered just saying "What the hell?" again.