Cowboy Untamed. Vicki Lewis Thompson
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on these dishes. Picking up a red bowl with a dark purple interior, he cradled it in both hands and ran his thumb over the pebbled rim. The bowl was a tactile and visual feast.
Her potter’s wheel stood in the corner ready for the next project, and he wanted to be there to see if her expression while creating was as passionate as the work itself. If she’d had an erotic nature back in high school, he’d totally missed the clues.
Not surprising. He’d been an insecure idiot back then, but he’d changed and so had she. He’d embraced his true calling and had finally realized that testosterone and art weren’t mutually exclusive. Obviously, she’d grown out of her timid phase.
“That collection’s new.”
He turned to find her standing in the opening that used to be the stall door. He’d been absorbed in his plans and hadn’t heard her footsteps. “It’s sexy.”
“You’re not the first person who seems to feel that way.” Her gaze met his and for a moment there was a flash of heat. Then she looked away and studied the colorful dinnerware. “I put that place setting out yesterday and I can already tell it startles people.”
“Why?” His blood warmed as he registered the interest he’d seen in her eyes. This could turn into an excellent evening.
“The colors seem to make them nervous. They’re also thrown for a loop when I explain that each place setting’s slightly different. Most people expect their dinner dishes to match. It’ll take a certain kind of customer.”
Like me. But buying her pottery right off the bat might brand him as a suck-up. He would get some eventually and, if everything turned out the way he’d like it to, they’d enjoy a meal together, preferably naked.
He gestured toward the wheel. “You obviously work here.”
“Yep. I visualized this as a combination studio and gallery from the beginning. Not everyone spends as much time here as I do, but I love it. The concrete floor is easy to clean and nobody cares if it gets stained. I have a kiln out back. Best conditions I’ve ever had.”
“The venue makes a difference.” He glanced at the large stall where he’d be setting up. “Looks like we’ll be neighbors.”
“Uh-huh. I like being in the back. Earlier this summer I considered moving into what’ll be your space but I didn’t, which is a good thing. Ready to unload your truck?”
“You bet.” He set the bowl down with great care. His work was nearly indestructible but hers could be a victim of gravity. He didn’t want that on his conscience.
He hauled in the big stuff—odd pieces of scrap metal and unusual gears and machine parts that he scavenged from anywhere he could find them. The hunt was part of the fun, although he didn’t have as much time for it as he used to. Friends had volunteered to comb junkyards for him and Liam was always on the lookout for interesting finds.
Sapphire carried in a box of welding equipment. “Where do you want this?” She stood in the middle of the spacious stall with her arms full.
“In the corner’s okay for now. I’ll set up everything tomorrow. Have you had dinner?”
“Um, no.” She put the box down and turned back to him. Instead of looking eager, she seemed wary. “But I’d planned to head home and catch up on some paperwork.”
Not the response he was hoping for. “How about taking some time to grab a bite with me at Scruffy’s Bar? There are a few things I’d like to discuss.”
Her expression remained guarded. “I guess I could. I’ll meet you over there, but I can’t stay long.”
“That’s fine.” It wasn’t fine at all. Where was that spark he’d seen a moment ago? He’d pictured her falling right in with his plan. They’d have a few drinks, dance a little and explore what he’d hoped would be a mutual attraction.
Maybe she had mountains of paperwork and really did need to finish it before tomorrow. “Listen, if you don’t have time, we can take a rain check.”
“No, it’ll be okay. I’m grateful that you agreed to be part of this.”
Oh, great. Now she was joining him out of a sense of obligation. “I’m happy to do it. Please don’t feel you have to keep me company while I eat. We can talk in the morning.”
“No, let’s do it now.” She gave him a quick smile. “I’ll lock up and be over there in a jiffy.”
She clearly didn’t want him hanging around while she took care of that. “See you there, then.” He touched the brim of his hat.
Damned if that gesture didn’t light up those amazing eyes of hers. Not for long, but this time he knew he wasn’t mistaken. She was attracted to him. But for some unknown reason, she didn’t want to be.
ONCE GRADY LEFT, Sapphire leaned against the nearest wall and groaned. How the hell was she supposed to get through tonight, let alone all the days and nights to follow, without jumping his bones? She’d hoped at least one of the co-op members would show up, but as much as they all wanted to meet Grady, every blessed person had other things going on.
She’d have to deal with his high-octane sexiness all by herself. Her hope that he wasn’t as gorgeous as she’d remembered from their meeting three weeks ago had died the minute he’d appeared beside the barn. He possessed a lethal combo of cowboy charm, good looks and creative talent that spelled trouble in neon lights. He was her particular brand of kryptonite and she’d agreed to have dinner with him.
Refusing would have been rude, even though he’d given her a way out. He’d put his own work on hold and driven up here because she’d asked him to support the charity event. Although he was staying with Ben and Molly Radcliffe, he apparently wasn’t expected there for dinner—another piece of bad luck.
Or maybe he’d been vague about his arrival time so he’d be free to ask her to dinner. They’d sparked off each other three weeks ago and self-preservation should have stopped her from asking him to headline the event. But her love for the kitties and gratitude to the shelter had overcome her misgivings.
She had no one to blame for this mess but herself and she’d do it all again considering how many guests and potential donations he’d pull in. She’d just have to exercise restraint whenever they were alone together and make it clear that she wasn’t interested. If the little voice in her head suggested that this man would be different, she wouldn’t listen.
She had a weakness for creative men. But after four failed relationships with artistic guys, she’d finally admitted that she didn’t belong with that type no matter how much they intrigued her. Some fatal flaw always turned up and doomed what had started out as something wonderful and promising. She was through taking chances.
After locking up, she drove her purple truck over to Scruffy’s, a bar known for good food and live country music. The smell of barbecue made her mouth water as she climbed out of her pickup, tucked her keys in the pocket of her skirt and started for the door. The parking lot was full, as always, so at least they’d have plenty of chaperones.
“Hey, there.” Grady walked toward her from the other side of the lot.
“Hi.” She paused, captured by the sheer beauty of him. Ignoring that for the next few days would be impossible. The waistband of his Wranglers sat easy on his lean hips and his yoked Western shirt emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. She imagined sliding her palms up the soft material and feeling his muscles bunch beneath her hands. His wavy brown hair, worn collar length, would feel like silk between her fingers.
His smile brought her attention to his mouth. She could write an essay on the sensual contours of those sculpted lips. Men like Grady had usually perfected the fine art of kissing. His lips would be like velvet as they—
“Ready