Hawk's Way Grooms: Hawk's Way: The Virgin Groom. Joan Johnston

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СКАЧАТЬ She confronted him, hands on hips and said, “That wasn’t funny!”

      He set his pitchfork against the stall and laughed. “I think you look darned cute with straw sticking out of your hair every whichaway.” He headed toward her to help pull out some of the straw.

      When he got close enough, she gave him a shove that sent him onto his behind. Only the straw Mac landed in wasn’t clean. He gave a howl of outrage and struggled up out of the muck, glaring at the stain on the back of his jeans. “What’d you do that for?”

      She grinned. “I think you look darned cute, all covered with muck.”

      “You know this means war.”

      “No, Mac. We’re even now. Don’t—”

      He lunged toward her, caught her by the waist and threw her up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

      “Watch out for your leg!” Jewel cried. “You’re going to hurt yourself carrying me like this.”

      “My leg is fine,” Mac growled. “Good enough to get you where I want you.”

      Mac headed for the short stack of hay at one end of the barn and when he got there, dropped Jewel into it. When she tried to jump free, he came down on top of her and pinned her hands on either side of her.

      “Mac,” she said breathlessly, laughing. “Get up.”

      “I want to play some more, Emerald, my dear,” he said sprinkling her hair with hay.

      “You’re more green than I am,” she taunted.

      Mac took a look at the back of his jeans. “Yes, and I think you should pay a forfeit for that.”

      “You can have the shower first,” she said with a bubbly laugh. “You need it!”

      His laugh was cut off when he realized that what he really wanted was a kiss. He stared at her curving mouth, at the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, at the teasing sparkle in her brown eyes. “I think I’ll take something now.”

      He watched her face sober when she realized what he intended. He knew she must be able to feel his arousal, cradled as he was between her jean-clad thighs. He waited for her to tell him to let go, that the game was over. She stared up at him with luminous eyes and slicked her tongue quickly, nervously over her lips. But she didn’t say get up or get off. And she didn’t say no.

      Friends, Mac. Not lovers. Friends.

      Mac made himself kiss her eyelids closed before he kissed each cheek and then her nose and then…her forehead.

      He rose abruptly and pulled her to her feet. She was dizzy, because her eyes had been closed, so he was forced to hold her in his arms until she was steady. She felt so good there, so very right. And so very wrong.

      “I’m sorry, Jewel,” he said. “That was totally out of line.”

      She took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, I suppose it was. I think it’s your turn to pay a forfeit, Mac.”

      He tensed. “What did you have in mind?”

      She reached out, and for a moment he thought she was going to lay her hand on his chest and give him another shove. Instead, she grasped a nearby pitchfork and held it out to him. “You get to finish what I started. I’m going to get another shower and wash off all this itchy straw.”

      “Hey! That’s not fair,” he protested.

      But she had already turned and stalked away.

      “You and your bright ideas,” Mac muttered to himself as he pitched manure into the wheelbarrow. “What were you thinking? Maybe you could throw straw around when you were kids and it was funny, but there was nothing funny about what almost happened in that haystack. What if you’d kissed her lips? How would you have felt when she got upset?

      How do you know she’d have been upset?

      Mac mused over that question for the next hour as he finished cleaning stalls. Actually, Jewel had seemed more upset that he hadn’t kissed her lips. Could she have feelings for him that weren’t merely friendly?

      Don’t even think about it, Macready. The woman’s off-limits. She’s your friend, and she needs your friendship. Concentrate on somebody else’s needs for a change and forget what you want.

      Mac knew why he was having all these lurid thoughts about Jewel. He probably would be having such thoughts about any woman he came in close contact with at this stage in his life. It didn’t help that Jewel turned him on so hard and fast.

      Get over it, Mac.

      “I intend to,” Mac muttered as he set the pitchfork back where it belonged and headed for the house. “Jewel is my friend. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

      AT THE END OF TWO WEEKS MAC was walking the mile to the canyon without the aid of a cane and doing it in seven minutes flat. Jewel had difficulty keeping up with him when he broke into a jog. His leg was getting better; hers never would. She could picture him moving away from her, going on with his life, leaving her behind. She was going to miss him. She was going to miss playing with him.

      The scene in the barn hadn’t been repeated. Nor had Mac teased her or taunted her or done any of the playful things he might have done when they were teenagers. He had become a serious grown-up over the past two weeks. She hadn’t realized how much she had needed him to play with her. To her surprise, she hadn’t been intimidated or frightened by him in the barn. Not even when she had thought he might kiss her.

      She had wanted that kiss, she realized, and been sorely disappointed when he kissed her forehead instead. Then she’d realized he had been carried away by their physical closeness, and when he’d realized it was her—his old friend, Jewel—he had backed off. He liked her, but not that way. They were just friends.

      It should have been enough. But lately, Jewel was realizing she wanted more. She was going to have to control those feelings, or she would ruin everything. Mac would be leaving soon enough. She didn’t want to drive him away by asking for things from him he wasn’t willing to give.

      “Hey,” she called ahead to him. “How about taking a break at the bottom of the canyon.”

      “You got it.” He dropped onto the warm, sandy ground with his back against the stone wall that bore the primitive Native American drawings and sifted the soil through his fingers. She sank down across from him, leaning back on her palms, her legs in front of her.

      “You’ll be running full out by this time next week,” she said.

      “I expect so.”

      “I won’t be coming with you then.”

      “Why not?”

      She sat up and rubbed at the sore muscles in her thigh. “I can’t keep up with you, Mac.” In more ways than one. He would be going places, while she stayed behind.

      Mac dusted off his hands on his shorts, scooted around to her side and, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, began to massage her thigh. СКАЧАТЬ