Totally Texan. Mary Lynn Baxter

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      His thick eyebrows bunched together as his gaze locked on her again. “By the way, I’m Grant Wilcox.”

      “Kelly Baker.”

      Instead of offering his hand, he nodded. “A pleasure.”

      Every time he spoke, she had a physical reaction to his voice. It was like being struck by something you thought would be severe and bruising, so that you recoiled inwardly. Only it wasn’t at all. It was pleasant, in fact.

      “You from around here?” he asked after taking a long sip of his coffee.

      “No,” Kelly said hesitantly. “Actually, I’m from Houston. How about yourself?”

      “Not originally. But I am now. I live about ten miles west of town. I own a logging company and recently bought the timber on a huge tract of land. So I’m stuck in Lane. At least for the time being.”

      The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he was smiling now. “We’ve just started cutting, and I’m happy as a pig in the sunshine.”

      Was he deliberately trying to sound like a hick or was he trying to tell her something by using that off-putting terminology? “That’s good,” she said for lack of anything else to say. Despite her reaction to Grant, intellectually she couldn’t care less what he was or what he did. So she asked if he’d like something to eat now.

      As if he picked up on her attitude, a smirk crossed his lips, then he said, “I’ll have a bowl of soup and a warm-up on my coffee.”

      All he needed to add was “little lady” to go with that directive. He definitely didn’t seem to be the world’s most progressive guy. Was it so obvious she was out of her comfort zone? Or was he just intuitive? It didn’t matter. What did matter was that his condescending manner not only infuriated her, but also made her more determined than ever to serve him with perfection.

      Grabbing the pot from behind the counter, Kelly made her way back toward his table, a smile plastered on her lips. She picked up his cup, and that was when it happened. The cup slipped from her hand and its contents landed in Grant Wilcox’s lap. He let out a shout.

      Speechless with horror, Kelly watched as he kicked back his chair and stood.

      “I’d say that was a good shot, lady,” he said.

      Though her empty hand flew to her mouth, Kelly’s eyes dipped south, where they became glued to the wet spot surrounding his zipper.

      Then they both looked up at the same time, their gazes locking.

      “Fortunately, none the worse for wear,” he drawled, a slow smile crawling across his lips.

      Horrified, mortified—you name it—Kelly could only stammer, “Oh my God—I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded nothing like her own. “Stay put and I’ll get a towel.”

      Whirling, she practically ran to the counter, When she returned, Grant’s eyes met hers again.

      “Here, let me,” she said, reaching out, only to stop abruptly when she saw the open grin on his face. She yanked her hand back, feeling blood rush into her cheeks.

      “That’s okay. I think I’ll just change my jeans.”

      “Uh, right,” Kelly said after finding her voice.

      “How much do I owe you?”

      Kelly was appalled that he’d even ask that. “Under the circumstances, absolutely nothing.”

      He turned then and walked toward the exit. Kelly could only stand spellbound in shock.

      When he reached the door he turned and winked. “See ya.”

      She hoped not. But at the same time, she was sorry, because he did have the cutest ass and swagger she’d ever seen—even when he’d just braved hot coffee from her hands.

      Too bad they were wasted on her.

      Two

      He hated paperwork, but that didn’t mean he could ignore it.

      Grant’s gaze cut over to the desk in the corner of the room, and he groaned. Not only were there stacks of invoices that had to be paid, there were folders that needed to be filed.

      He’d gone outdoors for a while. Swinging an ax had given him some much-needed physical relief. After spending most of the morning behind closed doors with his banker, reviewing his finances, he’d needed the outlet. Bank sessions nearly always made a nutcase out of him.

      A lot of things this morning had made him half-crazy. Following his shower a short time ago, he’d checked his crown jewels for the first time, since their coffee bath that morning, and deduced they were intact and good to go.

      Grant snorted. Only problem with the latter, they had no place to go. Better yet, no one to go to. He could barely recall the last time he’d shared a bed with a woman and really enjoyed it. Through the years, few women had had the power to either disturb his libido or hold his interest.

      However, he had to admit with brutal honesty that Ruth Perry’s replacement, whoever she was, had definitely done both.

      Kelly Baker was one fine woman. He couldn’t help but notice her fragile porcelain skin with its delicate dusting of freckles. She had wonderful bones, with curves that were just right, and her clothes draped her slender frame to perfection.

      Too bad she didn’t seem to have a brain to match all those physical assets. A twinge of conscience bit him, telling him that probably wasn’t a fair assessment of the woman. They’d spoken for barely two minutes, and he didn’t know anything about her but her name. No doubt, though, she was out of her element and didn’t have a clue what she was doing in the food business. Under other conditions and circumstances, he might have enjoyed spending time with her.

      “Ah, hell, Wilcox,” he muttered, reaching for his beer and taking another swig, “give it a rest.”

      She wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of him. It hadn’t taken him but a few seconds to get her number—a city broad with a city attitude. As far as he was concerned, both those things sucked. No way would the two of them ever get together.

      Again, that was too bad; she was a looker. He liked women with spunk, and she appeared to have more than her share of that. He’d relish the opportunity to play with a woman like her. For a few days anyway, he mused ruefully. It was okay to dream, just as long as he didn’t do something foolish and try to turn those dreams into reality.

      He almost laughed aloud at that crazy thought.

      No way was he going to mess with that woman. Already there was something about her that was a real turn-on to him. Perhaps it was because she appeared so untouchable, so condescending, that he wanted to explore what lay under that sheet of ice, then prove he was man enough to melt it. First by grabbing her and pressing her against the wall of his chest… He could almost taste her flesh as he imagined himself caressing, nibbling, kissing her mouth, her neck, her shoulders and her back.

      What would she feel? Would he make her tingle, make her hot?

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