“I don’t care,” she said. “Just so it’s soon.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Sisters know everything about you but love you anyway.”
– SUNNY COLLINS
Geoffrey woke up with another hard-on.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, rolling over and gingerly climbing out of the twin bed he’d slept in since he’d arrived at the ranch. He glanced down at his boxers and sighed. Lord help him, at this rate, he’d have a hard-on until he died. He scowled. Knowing his luck, his erection would last past his death. He could see it now. He’d be in his casket, cold and dead, with his penis still poking out, waiting, hoping for Maria to assuage his ache the way she did in his dreams.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her, he told himself as he pulled on a pair of jeans and headed down the hall to the shower. He was supposed to marry Lori. Lori was loaded. Lori was perfectly lovely, and Geoffrey had a special affection for her. Similar to the affection he had for his sister.
Scowling again, he turned on the shower and stripped off his clothes. For the three hundred and third time, he wondered what he was doing on this ranch. Yes, he knew his family needed money and he was expected to provide it. Yes, he knew that Lori was his best bet for achieving that goal, but it was still only a possibility.
Despite the uncertainty, he would be cleaning toilets today. Lori and Jackson were still out of town on business. In a different situation, he would feel offended that she hadn’t mentioned the trip to him. Instead, he felt relieved. If only he could find some relief from his obsession with Maria.
Hours later, after he’d completed cleaning duties and eaten lunch, Geoffrey wandered to the barn. He told himself he was just stretching his legs, but he wanted to catch a glimpse of Maria. He hadn’t seen her at all today.
He didn’t see any campers in the corral, so he suspected she might be in the barn or riding one of the horses. Walking into the dark, cool barn, he heard noise from the other end. The closer he walked, the more he made out her voice. Muttering in Spanish, she sounded displeased. He was relieved that for once her displeasure wasn’t directed at him.
He felt another surge of hunger burn through him. Everything about the woman oozed sensuality and womanliness, even her temper, God help him.
Rounding the corner to the tack room, he found her perched precariously on two boxes, struggling for a saddle out of reach. He watched her stand on tiptoe and shift her feet, which made the boxes shift.
Horror rushed through him, and he dove toward her to catch her. Too late. She cried out as she fell to the ground.
Geoffrey rushed to her side and searched her face. Her eyes were closed. His heart plummeted. “Oh, Maria. Darling, are you okay? Are you okay?”
She lay there on the floor as still as death. Terrified that she was seriously hurt, he gingerly touched her shoulder. “Maria. Maria, wake up.” He touched her face and lowered his ear to her lips, praying she was still breathing.
She was, but the fact that she was unconscious alarmed him more with each passing millisecond. He was so panicked he felt as if he were going to pass out. Geoffrey began to talk to himself. “Get yourself together. You’ve got to help her. She needs help.” He rose to his feet, reluctant to leave her. Should he pick her up? Should he-
Over his screaming loud panic, he heard a moan. He stared down at Maria. Had she made that sound, or had he? Biting his tongue, he listened and heard the sound again. Sinking beside her, he watched as her brow furrowed in pain.
His heart wrenched. Oh, no, she couldn’t be in pain. He couldn’t let that happen. “Maria, what hurts? Tell me what hurts.”
She moaned again, and her eyes fluttered open. “My head.” She winced. “Oh, my head.”
“Anything else?” he asked, desperate to help her. “I need to carry you to the house so we can get you proper medical attention.”
She frowned. “I don’t need a doctor,” she said and shook her head. She stopped suddenly, wincing. “I’ll be okay if I keep my head still.”
He could see she was downplaying her injury. “A visit to a doctor is imperative,” he said and slid one of his arms underneath her back.
Her eyes flashed open. “You’re not going to try to carry me, are you?”
Surprised at the note of fear in her voice, he paused a half beat. “Of course I’m going to carry you. You can’t walk the entire way. Don’t worry. I’ll carry you back to the house and then take you to a doc-”
She shook her head and winced again. “You can’t carry me.” She made a sound of exasperation. “I’m too big for you.”
Geoffrey sighed. She couldn’t be concerned about her weight. “That’s ridiculous. You have a perfectly luscious body.” He tugged gently to pick her up.
“Geoffrey,” she said, her eyes wide with alarm. “You’re too small. You’ll drop me.”
Geoffrey stared at her in disbelief. He’d thought she was self-conscious about her size. Instead she was criticizing his. Male pride rushed through every pore. “I am not too small,” he said, the words feeling as if they were shooting through his teeth like bullets from a machine gun. “I would be quite happy to show you just how small I’m not,” he continued, fuming. “And I will not drop you.”
Adrenaline and indignation roaring through him, he pulled her into his arms and stood. Stomping toward the house, he felt a feral growl shoot up his throat from somewhere deep in his belly.
“Geoffrey!” Maria’s eyes rounded in surprise. She was clearly shocked, however, no more than he. If he wasn’t wrong, he thought he spotted a glint of admiration in her dark eyes. If he wasn’t imagining things, she was looking at him differently.
He cleared his throat to keep from growling again. “So you see I’m perfectly capable of carrying you. You are not too large, and I am not too small.”
Five hours later, Maria lay in bed, with Geoffrey bobbing up and down every three minutes checking to make sure she was okay. In other circumstances, it would have driven her crazy to be stuck in bed, with someone fussing over her. If there was one thing Maria detested, it was feeling helpless. She would do anything to avoid it.
“I’m still breathing,” she said, feeling just a hint of Geoffrey’s breath on her cheek. “I fell in the tack room. I climbed on some boxes-”
“Which you’ll never do again,” he prompted with an edge to his voice. “You’ve nearly scared the life out of everyone.”
“You nearly scared the life out of everyone, carrying me to the house, yelling for help like I was bleeding to death.” She met his gaze, and a wave of tenderness washed over her, leaving her in a momentary state of shock.
Geoffrey studied her. “You look odd,” he said. “Are you in pain? You must tell me if you have any unusual symptoms.”
Symptoms like crushing over a pretty Englishman whose social status was stratospheres above her own. Not that social status had ever meant anything to Maria. But Geoffrey was different. So polite, yet urgent. So very passionate. How could she not be a little interested in the man? He’d written music inspired by her. She could tell he wanted her, and she couldn’t deny wondering what he was like as a lover.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly and reached for the orange juice on her bed stand.
“I’ll get that.” Geoffrey beat her to the chase and lifted the glass toward her, adjusting the straw.
She took a sip and looked into his eyes. “This is really unnecessary. I’m not sick. I’m not really hurt. You’re pampering me when I don’t need it.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” he said in that snooty uppercrust voice he used on very rare occasions. “More?”
She shook her head.
“Besides, from my point of view, it looks like you could do with some pampering. I may not be all that good at it, but I’d like to give it a try.”