But as she was about to take her first step down the hall, a shadow appeared, thrown from the light in the bathroom. She froze.
“Hey,” Anton said. “Who’s there?”
He flipped on a switch, blinding her. The stable boys appeared in their doorways. Lorenzo materialized behind his brother, similarly kitted out in a towel. Both men wore identical frowns; dark brows knitted together, full lips turned down. Lindsay drew herself up, attempting to regain a bit of the “I own this place and you’re my employees” haughtiness.
The stable boys snickered behind her. Lorenzo touched his brother’s shoulder. Anton shook him off, glaring right at her. “You must be lost? Miss?” He put an emphasis on the last word. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t escort you home. The last time I did that, your fiancé tried to pound me.”
Lorenzo chuckled. Anton shot his brother an evil look. Lindsay stiffened. Anton blinked, and in that split second she thought she might very well be in love with the man, a stranger to her for the most part, but with a face she’d memorized the second she met him, that populated her dreams and drove her fantasies.
“Go on,” he said over his shoulder to his brother. “You, too.” He pointed at the gawking stable boys. “Don’t let the door hit ya in the ass.” They did as they were told, closing their door while Lorenzo sauntered past Lindsay, his taller version of Anton’s perfection blinding her for a split second. She shrank, intimidated and mortified by all the naked man flesh reminding her how utterly out of place she was.
“Move along, brother,” Anton said softly, but with a firmness in his voice that made Lindsay tingly all over again. She shook her head to clear it, and by the time Lorenzo had shut the door of his room, she’d made it to the kitchen and was twisting the doorknob.
“Can you hang on a minute?” Anton called from behind her.
She rested her forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.”
“Sit down. Can you keep still long enough for me get my dang clothes on, at least?”
Keeping her eyes averted, she sat in a kitchen chair. He ducked into his room and re-emerged in jeans and buttoning up a fresh shirt. She couldn’t look up, because if she did, Lindsay was sure the truth of what she’d seen earlier would be written all over her face. He dropped into the chair opposite her. The sound of beer bottles being opened made her glance up. He pushed one across the table. She took it and held it on her lap.
“Stop pretending you’re sorry you’re here,” he said, his voice mild.
“I’m … I …” She stopped, at a loss for the first time that she could recall.
“Drink up. Hair of the dog and all that.”
She took a sip, noting that the bottle had no label. The light, slightly bitter taste of the beer surprised her. She took another drink, then another.
“Where did you get this?” She met his gaze for a second before looking down at the brown bottle.
“Made it,” he said, draping one arm over the chair. “What do you think?”
“Well, it’s good. Where do you make it?”
“Here, in the kitchen.” He waved the bottle. “It’s kind of a hobby.”
She nodded. Awkward silence descended.
“I wondered where my quilt went,” he said softly.
Lindsay winced before meeting his gaze. His expression was one of amusement, not accusation. His dark eyes twinkled when he put the bottle to his lips once more.
She frowned at him and finished hers, plunking the bottle on the table between them. “It’s a nice one.”
He snorted. Heat rose up her neck to her face. “I meant the quilt, you pig.”
“Ah, well, my sainted mother will be glad to you know approve of her handiwork.”
“I’m really sorry, about Will and all … that.” She waved a hand, blushing even harder.
He propped one elbow on the table. “It was worth it,” he said.
She sucked in a breath, and stood quickly. “I should go.”
He remained in his seat, tempting her with the memory of his full, naked body.
“Thank you for, um, well …”
“You’re welcome, Lindsay.” He caressed her name again, drawing out the syllables. They froze, staring at each other. She became hyper-aware of how sweaty she was under her riding clothes.
“But you’d best steer clear of me for a while, I’m guessing. I do want to keep my job.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I only … I … need a friend.”
“Well, last I checked, friends don’t spy on each other while they’re gettin’ naked.”
“You …” She clenched her fists, furious embarrassment making her speechless.
He held up his beer bottle as if in salute to her.
“I hate you,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re no better than the rest of them.”
He shrugged, sipped, and put his bottle on the table before crossing his arms. “You want a friend so bad, why not ask me, instead of sneaking into my room and watching me take off my clothes?”
“Go to hell.” She threw open the door and ran out, past the dying fire toward the barn, the only place she ever really found a true measure of happiness.
She entered Zelda’s stall and buried her face against the sleepy horse’s neck. After a few minutes, she calmed, patted the animal’s nose and apologized for waking her after a long day of exercise.
As she was fastening the stall gate, someone cleared his throat behind her. She yelped and whirled, hand to her chest. “What the hell do you want?”
Anton, fingers stuck in his belt loops, stalk of hay in his mouth, leaned against the barn wall. Without even thinking twice, she marched over to him, grabbed the hay and tossed it to the floor, then threw her arms around him, pressing her lips to his. He responded immediately, holding her close, parting her lips gently with his tongue, and reaching up to tug the band off her hair.
She molded herself against him, the most natural feeling in the world to her then. When he turned them so her back was against the barn wall, she reached down and put her palm right on his zipper, breathless at what she felt there. He groaned into her mouth and lifted her hand to his neck all the while turning her world inside out with his kiss.
Finally, breathing heavily, he cupped her cheek and broke their lip lock, leaving her hungry for more. She grabbed his belt loops and tried to get him to press against her again. His lips, dear Lord in heaven, the man’s lips were perfect and delicious, firm, yet soft, and in command as he trailed them down her neck to the open space right above her breasts. He cupped one, briefly, then dropped his hand and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I won’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” she demanded, her body in full overdrive now. Every nerve and synapse she possessed was on fire with need for this man. He ran his warm palms down her arms, then up, teasing her in a way that made her crazy.
“Please. I want … you. I want this. Now.” She took his hand and pressed it to her breast, then started unbuttoning her shirt. “Oh, God, Anton.” His breathing was fast and harsh as he watched her. Then he stepped away, his dark eyes shining in the barn’s deep gloom. Once she had her shirt open, she reached around and unhooked her bra.
“No,” he said, his voice harsh and loud in the empty barn. “Stop it, right now.”
She slid her shirt off her arms and let her bra fall to the floor, stepping toward him. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” She pulled him with her into an empty stall, grappling with his zipper, beyond eager now. Her need was so great it roared in her ears, deafening her.
He grabbed her hands and held her at arm’s length.
“What is the matter with you? You don’t want this?” She lifted his now-shaking hand to her bare breast, putting the other one to her cheek.
“I do,” he croaked, making her shiver with the pass of his thumb over her peaked nipple. “But I won’t take you here, like a … damn barn hand in the hay.” He ducked around her and picked up her bra and shirt, handing them to her while keeping his gaze on the floor.