Her Forbidden Cowboy. Charlene Sands

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СКАЧАТЬ thorn in Zane’s side. A kink in his plans. She would bide her time here, soak up some fresh sea air and then return home to face the music. Humiliation and desperate hurt had made her flee Texas. But she’d have to go back eventually. Her face pulled tight. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

      “Maybe,” she said to Mariah.

      “Well, have a good evening.”

      “Thanks. You, too.”

      After Mariah left, Jessica plucked up her shampoo and entered the bathroom. Oh, boy, and she’d thought the closet was something. The guest bathroom came equipped with a television, a huge oval Jacuzzi tub and an intricately tiled spacious shower that was digitized for each of the three shower heads looming above. She peered closer to read the monitor. She could program the time, temperature and force of the shower and heaven knew what else.

      After she punched in a few commands, the shower spurted to life, and water rained down. Jess smiled. A new toy. Peeling off her clothes, she opened the clear glass door and stepped inside. Steamy spray hit her from three sides, with two heads spewing softly and one pulsing like the pumping of her heart. She turned around and around, using the fragrant liquid soap from a dispenser in the wall. She lingered there, lost in the mist and jet stream as pent-up tension seeped out of her bones, her limbs loose and free. Eventually, she got down to business and worked shampoo into her hair. Much too early, the shower turned off automatically. As she stepped out, the steam followed her. She dried herself with a cushy white towel. How nice.

      She dressed in a pair of tan midthigh shorts and a cocoa-brown tank top. She hoped dinner with Zane wasn’t a formal thing. She hadn’t brought anything remotely fashionable.

      After blow-drying her hair, she lifted the long strands up in a ponytail, leaving bangs to rest on her forehead. A little nap had sounded wonderful minutes ago, but now she was too keyed up to sleep. The time change would probably hit her like a ton of bricks later, but right now, the sandy windblown beach below beckoned her. She slipped her feet into flip-flops and headed downstairs.

      Lured by the scent of spices and sauce wafting to her nose, she headed in that direction. Inside a magnificent granite-and-stone kitchen, she came face to face with an older woman, a little hefty in the hips, wearing an apron and humming to herself.

      The woman turned around. “Hola, Miss Holcomb?”

      “Yes, I’m Jessica.”

      “Hola, Jessica.” She nodded. “I’m Mrs. Lopez. Do you like enchiladas?”

      She was Texan. She loved everything Mexican. “Yes. Smells yummy.”

      Mrs. Lopez lowered the oven door, and a stainless-steel rack automatically pushed forward.

      “They will be ready in half an hour. Can I get you a drink? Or a snack?”

      “No, thank you. I’ll wait for Zane. Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, retreating from the kitchen. “I’ll be back in—”

      A boom sounded. “Double damn you!” Zane’s loud curse echoed throughout the house.

      Jessica froze in place.

      Mrs. Lopez grinned and shook her head. “He cannot dress himself too well. He will not let anyone help him. He is not such a good patient.”

      They shared a smile. “I see.” But when she’d first arrived, he was wearing jeans and a casual cotton shirt. Was he dressing up now? “Do I need to change my clothes for dinner?”

      “No, no. Mr. Zane spilled iced tea on his shirt. You are dressed nice.”

      “Thank you.” Okay, great. She felt better now. When she’d packed her clothes, she hadn’t given much thought to her wardrobe. All she hoped for was to clear her head a little while here. “I thought I’d go for a walk on the beach. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner. See you later.”

      Mrs. Lopez nodded and focused on the stove. Jess’s stomach grumbled as she left the spicy smells of the kitchen and walked out the double doors to the deck. From there, she climbed a few more stairs down, until warm sand crept onto her flip-flops.

      * * *

      There were no lakes or rivers back home that compared with the balmy breezes whipping at her hair, the briny taste on her lips or the glistening golden hues reflecting off the ocean. Her steps fell lightly, making a slight impression in the packed wet sand until the next wave inched up the shore and carried her footprints out to sea. Even with the sun low over the water’s edge, her skin warmed as she walked along the beach. To her right, beachfront mansions overlooking the sea filled her line of vision, each one different in design and structure. She was so intent on gauging the houses, she didn’t notice a jogger approaching until he’d stopped right in front of her.

      “Hi,” he said, his breaths heaving.

      “Hello.” A swift glance at his face made her gasp silently. He was stunning and tanned and one of the most famous movie stars in the world. Dylan McKay.

      He hunched over, hands on knees, catching his breath. “Give me a sec.”

      For what? She wanted to ask, yet she stood there, feet implanted in the sand, waiting. He was easy on the eyes, and she tried not to stare at his bare chest and the dip of his jogging shorts below a trim waist.

      He righted his posture, and blood drained from her body as he aimed a heart-melting smile her way. “Thank you.”

      Puzzled, she stared at him. “For?”

      “Being here. For giving me an excuse to stop running.” He chuckled, and white teeth flashed. Was the sun-gleaming twinkle from his smile real? Could’ve been. Dylan McKay was every red-blooded woman’s idea of the perfect man.

      Except hers. She knew there was no such thing.

      “Okay. But...you could’ve just stopped on your own, couldn’t you?”

      He shook his head. “No, I’m supposed to run ten miles a day. It’s a work thing. I’m preparing for a role as a Navy SEAL.”

      No kidding? She wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know who he was. Or that his bronzed body wasn’t already honed and ripped. “Gotcha. How many did you do?”

      His lips twisted with self-loathing. “Eight.”

      “That’s not bad.” Judging by the pained look on his face, he was a man who expected perfection of himself. “There aren’t too many people who can run eight miles.”

      His expression lightened and he seemed to appreciate her encouragement. “I’m Dylan, by the way.” He put out his hand.

      “Jessica.” It was a one-pump handshake.

      “Are we neighbors?” he asked, his brows gathering. “I live over there.” He pointed to a trilevel mansion looming close by.

      She shook her head. “Not really. I’m staying with Zane Williams for a short time.”

      When his brows lifted ever so slightly and his eyes flashed, she read his mind. “He’s...he’s family.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ