Arizona Heat. Jennifer Greene
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through her mind like dandelion fluff in a hurricane wind.
And every feminine hormone in her body was alive, awake and singing arias.
Inappropriate arias, Kansas mused. It was only a kiss. From a man who clearly wished he hadn’t indulged in the impulse, and in a place where she neither lived nor planned to stay long. As there was positively no chance to pursue a relationship, there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
And she wasn’t worried. She’d just never felt that fierce, instantaneous pull for anyone else. Before completely giving up men—which, as far as Kansas was concerned, was the most brilliant decision she ever made—she was no stranger to passion. Hal had been her last lover, and making love with him had been nice. Messy and time-consuming, but nice. Maybe she had an unusual pocketful of inhibitions, but she’d never been in a tearing hurry to get naked with a man, and Hal had been sweet, gentle, comfortable. Untenably, exasperatingly, as possessive as a bloodhound, but the intimate side of their relationship had been A-OK. She’d thought.
How startling, to discover at the vast age of twenty-nine, that a man could wipe all those previous preconceptions right off the map. If Pax had scared her, it was the most delicious scared she could remember. No man had ever kissed her like a lush slide straight into sensual oblivion, as if her whole world had been an arid desert until he touched her.
Kansas wasn’t about to mistake a molehill for a mountain—for both of them, it had probably just been a crazy, lost moment in time.
But she didn’t want to forget that kiss.
Kansas turned around, and forced her mind to concentrate on getting ready for bed. She had a bad, bad feeling that falling for Pax could be a terrible temptation. That wouldn’t do at all; not for him or her. For a few moments there, she’d almost forgotten that she was violently, sensibly and firmly off men.
It was a relief to remember that.
* * *
Pax turned down Cactus Court with a glance at the digital clock on his dash. Three o’clock on the button.
It was going to be a lot easier to deal with Kansas, he considered, now that he knew for sure she was a stark-raving lunatic.
His experience with her the night before couldn’t possibly have been more helpful. He had her measure now. She might be a wimp, but she had more guts—and recklessness—than any twenty women. And before getting any further involved in her brother’s problem, that was precisely what Pax needed to know—how she’d respond to trouble.
Now he knew.
She had no concept of trouble or danger at all. Skydive without a parachute—no problemo for Kansas. Pet a grizzly bear—what fun. Respond to a guy she barely knew with open vulnerability and passion and a free, naked invitation to do whatever the hell he wanted...damn that woman. Had she even thought about saying no?
Pax braked in her driveway, and slammed the door as he leaped out of the Explorer. Hot sun beat down on his shoulders, healing, soothing sun. He’d been up since five. Spring was calving season. He’d showered before leaving the Hernandez ranch—most of the local ranchers offered him a meal and a place to clean up as an automatic courtesy. So he was clean, but his muscles still ached from the physical work and long, grueling hours. He wouldn’t have minded ten minutes to put his feet up.
He’d have been even happier if the memory of Kansas coming apart in his arms would disappear, splat, from his mind. And yeah, he was guilty of initiating that kiss. But he’d only intended a kiss, not a pass. He’d only intended to test her a little, see how she responded to a little surprise, a little stress. God knew how it had gotten out of hand so fast.
It was her fault. Completely. Only blaming her somehow didn’t make him feel better. Pax did not open up to strangers. Ever. He positively did not come onto women like a rabid bull. Ever. He was a grown man, a hundred years too old to let hormones rule his life or his behavior, and he had never touched a woman where he wasn’t in full control. It was unconscionable. It couldn’t have happened.
The front door hurled open...and Pax mentally braced. Trouble bounced outside, in a flurry of ditsy chitchat and a wincing bright orange streak of color.
“Hi there, Pax! You’re right on time. Wait, wait, wait—I forgot my purse...and I’d better lock the door. I just have to remember where I put the key to the house....”
Pax wiped a hand over his face as he waited for her to shoot back inside and come up with the key and purse and heaven knew what else. Last night must have been some kind of surreal fantasy, something he’d half imagined or blown out of proportion in his mind. This was the Kansas he’d first met. One of those alien species known as a Pure Female. In her case, a pure ditsy female, a chatterer with just an eensy tendency to be an airhead.
She chased back outside with a grin bigger than the sky, a floppy crocheted bag dangling from her arm. Her fingers were covered—plastered—in rings; bracelets clattered around her wrists; and he hadn’t a clue how to classify what she was wearing. Technically it seemed to be some kind of dress, but it buttoned from a loose neck and ended midthigh. A short midthigh. The fabric was a light cotton knit, and snuggled up to every skinny bone. Hell, a gusty sigh would probably knock her down.
Her fragility hit him every time he saw her. Never mind all the flash and sparkle—he’d felt her body last night. She didn’t own a sturdy bone and her skin was softer than a baby’s behind. He guessed she’d bruise if a man even looked at her roughly, and that thought was disturbing. Pax couldn’t imagine her surviving in any physically demanding situation—past five minutes—and there was just no way this side of the moon that he could stop himself from feeling protective of her.
“Ready,” she announced, and gave him another winsome, wicked grin. “At least I think I’m ready. We didn’t exactly pin down an agenda for the afternoon. Do we have a game plan on the table about where we’re going?”
“I have a place in mind, where your brother used to spend some time. But first—I should have asked you yesterday if you’d talked to the sheriff.”
“Why, sure. When I couldn’t get ahold of Case and started worrying he was missing, the first places I called were the hospitals—and then the law. Sheriff Simons and I are old phone pals. I called him at least a half dozen times from Minnesota.”
“And?”
“And...he was real sweet and real kind, but all those long-distance calls got me nowhere.” Kansas climbed into the passenger side of the Explorer and strapped herself in.
His Explorer was used to smelling like hay and vet medicines and a whole host of other natural, earthy smells. But his truck, for sure, had never been exposed to a blast of exuberantly sexy French perfume. Something about that audacious scent—or her—was developing a dangerous habit of arousing his hormones. But Pax consoled himself that at least she’d made no reference to the kiss the night before. Apparently they were both going to play this nice and comfortable and pretend it never happened—which was totally okay by him.
“The sheriff went so far as to drive out to Case’s place,” Kansas continued. “But when he didn’t find any sign of breaking in or a problem, he said that was the best he could do. There was no reason to think my brother was really missing. Case had a habit of taking off on any whim, and apparently everyone around here knew it. Unless I come up with some reason or proof that Case is in trouble, the sheriff just said he had no legal basis to do anything.”
“I told you the same thing yesterday,” Pax reminded her.
“Yeah, I know you did.” Blue eyes skimmed his face, then zipped away. “That’s exactly why I’m grateful that you believed me.”
“I don’t necessarily believe that your brother is in trouble,” he said, correcting her.
“He is.” Her voice had turned quiet. “And you must believe me to some extent, or you wouldn’t be here.”
That wasn’t precisely true. Pax checked the