His Ring, Her Baby / His Bride for the Taking: His Ring, Her Baby / His Bride for the Taking. Sandra Hyatt
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able to get to her offspring because a roll of wire partially blocked it.
She turned to Suzi. “So you think we should get him out, huh?”
Suzi sat looking at her expectantly.
“Okay, little mother. Give me a moment.”
Trying not to think about spiders and snakes and every other poisonous animal that seemed to inhabit this country, Vanessa reached under the bench and drew the puppy toward her.
“Here we go,” she said, placing it in front of Suzi, who barked then picked it up in her teeth and trotted back to the others.
Smiling, Vanessa pushed herself to her feet. But as she went to stand, she heard a ripping noise and felt a pain at the back of her left shoulder blade. She gasped. Had she just been bitten by a snake? She glanced behind her and went weak with relief when she saw a nail sticking out of the bench.
Reaching over her shoulder, she managed to touch the gash. Her fingers came away with blood on them. Great. That was all she needed. Stitches.
Looking in the bathroom mirror a few minutes later, she was thankful to see a cut only about half an inch long and not too deep. A bit painful but nothing she couldn’t handle, she decided, dabbing at it with antiseptic cream from the first-aid kit in the laundry room, then changing into another blouse.
It hurt like the devil as she went back to the kitchen but she ignored the pain as best she could. She’d just decided to gather the ingredients to make a lemon meringue pie for dessert when she heard the sound of Kirk’s vehicle returning.
Her pulse started to race and she called herself a fool for letting him affect her this way. He was her employer, for heaven’s sake. He had come home for lunch, that was all. He hadn’t come home to see her.
Vanessa reminded herself that she still had to be wary where Kirk was concerned. Attraction, that was all it was. She’d been without her husband for a while, and Kirk was used to having any woman he wanted.
She heard him come in the back door and stop to wash his hands in the laundry, then his footsteps came to the kitchen door. She pretended to be busy wiping the sink down.
A moment crept by.
She knew he was there.
She started to casually turn and—
“Bloody hell, Vanessa.” He strode toward her. “You’ve got blood on the back of your blouse. What happened?”
She whirled around and found Kirk far too close for comfort. Alarm flashed through her.
She swallowed. “One of the pups escaped and I got caught on a nail getting him out from under the bench.”
“Let me take a look.”
She stepped back but came up against the sink. “No, I cleaned it up myself and put some antiseptic cream on it. And I had a tetanus shot last year when I walked on a nail, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
Kirk ignored her as he turned her around, holding her still. “It’s been bleeding. Now it’s stuck to your shirt. I’d better take a proper look at it.”
She went to move away. “It’s nothing. Really.”
“You may need stitches.”
“I don’t.”
He paid no attention as he strode toward the laundry room. “I’ll get the first-aid kit. We’ll use the guest bathroom. It’s got good light in there.” He disappeared, then came back with the small box in his hand. “Come on, Vanessa. Don’t dilly-dally. You don’t want to risk it getting infected.”
There was nothing for it but to follow him along the hallway to the guest bathroom.
He placed a stool in front of the basin. “Sit.”
She sat but she was getting annoyed at his bossy attitude. “Want me to roll over, too?”
His gaze snapped to hers in the mirror. “I generally save that for the bedroom,” he said, with a smirk.
“You wish!”
A glint returned to his eyes before he pulled out a wad of cotton wool from the first-aid kit. “Right. It’s going to hurt like hell, but if I wet it first the material should come off easily.” He paused at their reflection, his eyes plunging to her blouse then up again. “You know you’ll have to take that off afterward, don’t you?”
All at once the air charged with electricity. It zipped between them, alive and determined to be recognized.
Panic rose in her throat. Her eyes darted to the box of assorted items. “Didn’t I see a pair of scissors in there? Just cut around it. I don’t mind.”
His movements stiff, he turned the faucet on and held the cotton wool under running water. “You’ll ruin another shirt,” he warned.
She shrugged. “What’s one more?”
Not looking at her, he placed the water-soaked gauze on the cut and dabbed at it a few times, causing her to flinch. “Sorry, I’m being as gentle as I can.”
She swallowed. “I know.”
“There.” Another second or two and he lifted the cotton wool away. “You should be able to take the blouse off now without too much damage.”
Her breathing shallowed.
His eyes caught and held hers, and suddenly she was imagining having his strong arms around her, his warm kisses.
“Want some help?” he said, his voice thickening, a pulse ticking in the strong cord of his neck.
She could feel herself blush. “Er … no. I can manage.” She willed her hands to move, only they wouldn’t.
A few seconds went by.
“Sure?”
“Yes. I mean, no.”
The blue of his eyes darkened like a midnight sky. “Can’t make up your mind?” he asked huskily.
“No. I mean, yes.”
He made a guttural sound, his expression stilling. All at once there was nothing more serious than this moment. Nothing more serious than them.
She watched, mesmerized in the mirror, as his hand came to rest on her good shoulder … rested then tiptoed along her collarbone to her throat.
She moistened her lips. “Er … what are you doing?”
His blue eyes said it all. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just don’t bloody know.”
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs. She had to bring back some sense of sanity. “Don’t touch, remember?” she tried to remind him, tried to take charge, only her voice merely dropped into the whirlpool of sensuality in the room.
“I remember. But … if I were to touch I’d do it like.” His index finger touched the sensitive hollows of her neck. “This.”
She moaned silently, her breath entering her lungs in short spurts.
His finger slipped inside the collar of her blouse. “And touching’s not always the same as … caressing.” He stroked the top of one breast.
Oh, God.
“It’s not?”
“No. There’s a difference.” Another pass over the top of her breast. “Feel it?”
She moistened her lips. She could feel nothing else. Closing her eyes, she gave in for a moment, all soft and pliable and very much a woman. “Oh, yes.”
And he was very much a man.
An aroused man. She only had to turn her head and she’d be able to press her cheek against him, inhale him and—
Her