the tractor.
She knew he was aware of her approach as she followed the graveled path to the barn.
His bare shoulders were tense now, the sweat gleaming off them in the summer sun. He was a powerful male animal, and that was what she saw as she stopped at the front of the tractor and watched him silently.
"Lunch ready?" His voice was dark, brooding.
"Not yet. I wanted to see if you wanted to come up and talk to me while I fixed it."
He tensed further as he bent behind a large wheel and fiddled with something there.
"Why don't you just yell at me when it's ready?" he suggested. "I'm pretty busy here."
Oh yeah, she could see that. He was really busy getting his hands greasy as he picked and probed behind the tire.
"It's just sandwiches," she told him then. "Maybe a salad. A few minutes at the most."
He nodded. "Just yell when it's done."
"I don't think so."
He tensed further, stilling beneath her gaze before his head turned slowly and his gaze latched onto her with almost predatory awareness.
"Excuse me?" The inordinate politeness of his tone caused her heart rate to increase, the blood to surge stronger and hotter through her veins.
"You heard me, Mac. You can come up to the house with me while I fix lunch or you can do without it. I wanted to spend some time with you. It's something you make certain we don't do lately. I'm tired of it."
Mac shifted, straightening with a graceful, dangerous flex of muscles that had her taking a step back. Suddenly her husband reminded her more of a wild animal preparing to jump. And he noticed her reaction. His lashes narrowed over his eyes as he pulled a discarded rag from the tractor seat and began to wipe his greasy hands.
Not that it helped a lot. And grease should never, at any time, be sexy, but the streaks of oil on his hands and up his arms and the few slashes across his chest were highly arousing.
Sexual tension was like a smothering blanket between them now. As though they had never touched, never been intimate, as though the power of the anticipation for it was suddenly as strong as it had been the day she met him.
"You're tired of it," he repeated softly. "Tired of what exactly, Keiley?"
Her lips dried with nervousness. Stroking her tongue over them, Keiley nearly caught her breath as Mac's gaze flicked to the action.
"You know what I'm talking about, Mac." Suddenly she could feel the amount of skin her clothing revealed. The fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. That she wasn't wearing panties.
"Poor Keiley." He tossed the rag back to the tractor seat and began advancing on her.
"Maybe you shouldn't have run away from me in the bedroom this morning."
"Don't turn this into sex, Mac," she ordered weakly.
Weak, because it was about sex. It was about the hunger that seemed to grow between them daily. About the need for his touch, his kiss, his very presence. And the need for the reality and the fantasy of his hunger.
"But it is about sex, Keiley," he murmured as he caught her hips, uncaring of the oil she was certain now marked the bare flesh.
He trapped her against the front of the tractor, the bulging erection beneath his jeans pressing against her stomach as her head fell back to stare up at him.
He was so tall, nearly a foot taller. At almost six four, Mac seemed to overwhelm everyone else. Especially her. She was only five-four, short, and fine-boned. She always felt alternately protected and undefended against his height and strength.
"It's not about sex." She tried to shake her head as his lips lowered to her neck. "I just wanted to talk."
"About sex." His lips grazed her neck, then his teeth scraped over it, causing her lashes to flutter as she fought to hold back a moan.
It had been like this from the first. He could seduce her with nothing but the threat of a kiss, the anticipation and thrill of just knowing his touch was coming.
And he was doing it now. She shuddered in his hold, feeling his hands against her hips, his fingers subtly massaging as
She knew he was aware of her approach as she followed the graveled path to the barn.
His bare shoulders were tense now, the sweat gleaming off them in the summer sun. He was a powerful male animal, and that was what she saw as she stopped at the front of the tractor and watched him silently.
"Lunch ready?" His voice was dark, brooding.
"Not yet. I wanted to see if you wanted to come up and talk to me while I fixed it."
He tensed further as he bent behind a large wheel and fiddled with something there.
"Why don't you just yell at me when it's ready?" he suggested. "I'm pretty busy here."
Oh yeah, she could see that. He was really busy getting his hands greasy as he picked and probed behind the tire.
"It's just sandwiches," she told him then. "Maybe a salad. A few minutes at the most."
He nodded. "Just yell when it's done."
"I don't think so."
He tensed further, stilling beneath her gaze before his head turned slowly and his gaze latched onto her with almost predatory awareness.
"Excuse me?" The inordinate politeness of his tone caused her heart rate to increase, the blood to surge stronger and hotter through her veins.
"You heard me, Mac. You can come up to the house with me while I fix lunch or you can do without it. I wanted to spend some time with you. It's something you make certain we don't do lately. I'm tired of it."
Mac shifted, straightening with a graceful, dangerous flex of muscles that had her taking a step back. Suddenly her husband reminded her more of a wild animal preparing to jump. And he noticed her reaction. His lashes narrowed over his eyes as he pulled a discarded rag from the tractor seat and began to wipe his greasy hands.
Not that it helped a lot. And grease should never, at any time, be sexy, but the streaks of oil on his hands and up his arms and the few slashes across his chest were highly arousing.
Sexual tension was like a smothering blanket between them now. As though they had never touched, never been intimate, as though the power of the anticipation for it was suddenly as strong as it had been the day she met him.
"You're tired of it," he repeated softly. "Tired of what exactly, Keiley?"
Her lips dried with nervousness. Stroking her tongue over them, Keiley nearly caught her breath as Mac's gaze flicked to the action.
"You know what I'm talking about, Mac." Suddenly she could feel the amount of skin her clothing revealed. The fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. That she wasn't wearing panties.
"Poor Keiley." He tossed the rag back to the tractor seat and began advancing on her.
"Maybe you shouldn't have run away from me in the bedroom this morning."
"Don't turn this into sex, Mac," she ordered weakly.
Weak, because it was about sex. It was about the hunger that seemed to grow between them daily. About the need for his touch, his kiss, his very presence. And the need for the reality and the fantasy of his hunger.
"But it is about sex, Keiley," he murmured as he caught her hips, uncaring of the oil she was certain now marked the bare flesh.
He trapped her against the front of the tractor, the bulging erection beneath his jeans pressing against her stomach as her head fell back to stare up at him.
He was so tall, nearly a foot taller. At almost six four, Mac seemed to overwhelm everyone else. Especially her. She was only five-four, short, and fine-boned. She always felt alternately protected and undefended against his height and strength.
"It's not about sex." She tried to shake her head as his lips lowered to her neck. "I just wanted to talk."
"About sex." His lips grazed her neck, then his teeth scraped over it, causing her lashes to flutter as she fought to hold back a moan.
It had been like this from the first. He could seduce her with nothing but the threat of a kiss, the anticipation and thrill of just knowing his touch was coming.
And he was doing it now. She shuddered in his hold, feeling his hands against her hips, his fingers subtly massaging as
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