Marriage On Demand. Susan Mallery
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her up to her ankle.
“Perfect,” she muttered.
A warm, strong hand gripped her arm. “You okay?” Austin asked.
She looked up at him. Her dark hair was in the way, so she moved it off of her face. She stared at him, dumbfounded.
Water rolled off his face and onto his chest. Drops slipped down into the open V of his shirt. The cotton clung to him, hugging his tanned skin, outlining his muscles, leaving nothing to her imagination.
She swallowed hard. Where his fingers touched her, she felt individual jolts, as if she’d been hooked up to an electric current. Her breasts swelled inside her damp shirt.
“Rebecca?”
“What? Oh, I’m fine.” She glanced down at herself. One foot was in the mud, the other almost as dirty. Her wet and stretched dress flapped in the cold wind. The color from the fabric was bleeding into her white silk T-top. The damp material clung to her chest, outlining her rather pitiful curves. So much for swelling. No one would notice, much less be impressed, she thought, remembering the generous curves of Austin’s redhead.
“I think I lost my shoe,” she said, pointing to a lump in the mud.
In the distance there was a flash of lightning. “The storm is getting worse,” he said. “I can’t get the car loose. Kyle’s borrowed my truck, and I don’t think my car is going to have any better luck in this mud. Come on up to my place and we’ll call a tow truck.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
He smiled again. Her heart beat faster inside her chest. “It’s a little too late for that.”
He released her and bent over to dig through the mud for her shoe. When he’d retrieved the ruined flat, he handed it to her. She took it and stared at the coated leather. It would never be the same again. The fitting end to a lousy week.
He started walking toward an enormous barnlike structure partially concealed by a grove of Chinese maple trees. He didn’t bother to look back to see if she followed. She limped along with one shoe on and one shoe off. Thank goodness they were flats. The rain increased its intensity, turning from a steady sprinkle into a downpour again. The temperature seemed to drop considerably, too.
When they reached the brick-bordered cement path, it was easier to keep up with his long-legged stride. Her lone shoe made a squishy noise with each step. Her wet hair flapped in her face. She pulled off her velvet headband and saw it was ruined along with everything else she was wearing. Why hadn’t she grabbed an umbrella before she left? No, she thought, shaking her head. That would have required a brain—something she didn’t seem to have when it came to Austin.
She glanced at the clipped grass stretching out on both sides of the path, then at the slabs of cement. At anything but the tall, dark and very appealing male specimen right in front of her. It didn’t work. Again and again her gaze was drawn back to him.
He walked with an easy loose-hipped grace. His arms swung with each stride. Despite her bedraggled appearance, she couldn’t help thinking that if she hurried and caught up with him, their arms might brush and then she—
Stop it! she commanded herself. This was insane. And embarrassing. She was here on a mission and she couldn’t forget that. Still, his scent drifted to her and made her think about tangled sheets and bare skin and—
“Oh, my,” she whispered, trying to ignore the heat suddenly blossoming in her belly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, stopping and turning toward her.
She almost plowed into him. As it was, she skidded to a stop, the big toe of her one bare foot jabbing painfully into the concrete. “Nothing,” she said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to grab her toe and hop on one foot until the pain faded.
He glanced down at her. She stood five feet eight inches in her stockinged feet. The low shoe gave her a half inch more. She stood eye to eye with a lot of men. Austin topped her by a good seven inches.
“You are the most peculiar woman,” he said, then turned away and crossed the last few feet to the door of the barn.
Great, she thought, grumbling. Peculiar. That was romantic. Peculiar. When she wanted to be beautiful, witty, curvaceous, intoxicating. She shrugged. She was never going to be any of those things. Her destiny was to be ordinary. That was the reason Rod Dowell had never noticed her and Austin wouldn’t, either. She was the girl next door. Wholesome, innocent, ordinary. Like milk. People took it and her for granted. She wanted to be the dash of cognac at the end of a perfect evening. Instead, she was reserved for pouring over breakfast cereal. It wasn’t fair.
Austin cleared his throat. She looked up and saw he was holding open the door, obviously waiting for her to step inside. She ducked in, careful not to slap his legs with the hem of her soggy dress.
The foyer was a small room with no furniture. A big metal door with a window in the top half led to what looked like a large machine shop and laboratory. To the left, stairs curved up to the second floor.
“Up there,” he said, pointing to the stairs.
“Up there?” She swallowed.
“Only if you want to get dry.”
“Oh. Sure. Thanks.”
He lived up there. Alone. Except for the occasional female visitor. Like the redhead.
It wasn’t that Rebecca went out of her way to learn things about Austin. She might have a crush on him, but she wasn’t completely nuts. Still, people talked, especially about him. No matter how much she tried to slip away or tell herself not to listen, she always heard things, and remembered them.
She gripped the metal railing and started to climb. She could feel the moisture rolling off her and dripping on the stairs. Her footsteps sounded uneven, the clunk of her shoe, the silence of her bare foot.
He was right behind her. She could feel his gaze on her back, heating her. Was he staring at her the way she’d stared at him? Foolish to think he might. He probably barely realized she was female.
At the top of the stairs, she stepped onto a hardwood floor. Her first impression was of space, light and warmth. The living quarters covered the entire loft of the barn. There were no separate rooms; areas flowed into each other.
Eight-foot-high windows added to the feeling of openness in the cavernous room. Two overstuffed couches cordoned off an area to form a living room. Entertainment equipment provided a divider between that room and the kitchen. A king-size bed with—she gulped—a black satin comforter lined up against the opposite wall.
She stared at it, stunned, then grinned. Now she had a new element to add to her fantasies. Black satin. Who would have guessed?
The only walled room was at the far end of the loft. Through the open door she saw the sink and tub of the bathroom. The temperature in the loft was pleasant after the chill of the rain.
A brilliant flash of light cut through the late afternoon. On its heels, thunder boomed, shaking the building. Rebecca jumped and grabbed for the railing. Instead of cold metal, her fingers encountered warm skin.
Before she could pull back, he caught her hand in his. “Are you afraid of the storm?” he asked, his voice quiet after the thunder.
She started shaking. It had very little to do with her body temperature and her damp clothes, and everything to do with his closeness. “A little,” she murmured.
Their gazes locked. Gray irises darkened like the coming of night. He gave away nothing, no emotions, no thoughts. It was like staring into the storm itself and only being able to imagine the destruction. His fingers slipped between hers and he tugged her closer to him. Her bare foot rested against the edge of his cowboy boots.
“Don’t be afraid.” He reached up. With his free hand he brushed the moisture from one cheek.
The tender gesture, so incongruous