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  “And smart ones, too. Haring off to Mexico with some joker. What if he—”

  “What? What if he what? Put the moves on me? What if he did? What if I wanted him to? What if I liked it?”

  Jefferson’s jaw ticked. Then abruptly he smiled. So broadly that the dimple in his cheek broke free. He folded his arms behind his head and lay back. “Nothing happened.”

  She wasn’t sure who she was more disgusted with. Jefferson for his ridiculous attitude. Or herself for almost falling off the boulder after one glance at his little-used megawatt smile. She clambered to her feet. “How do you know? There are some men on the face of this earth who do find me attractive, you know.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he agreed, his low voice whiskey smooth. His lashes shaded his eyes partially as he ran his glance up and down her slender figure. “You grew up real nice, Emily.”

  “Gee,” she replied as she propped her fists on her hips, “thanks. I’m so touched.”

  “Anytime.”

  Huffing, Emily shook her head and looked to the sky, then back down at Jefferson’s sprawling body. She stepped back onto the rock and crouched down beside him. “You know what occurs to me, Jefferson?”

  His eyes were closed, a half smile still hovering about his lips. “What?”

  “It occurs to me, that you probably haven’t had a good swim in a while.” With that, she pushed at his waist. Off balance, he rolled right off the boulder into the swimming hole.

  Water splashed over her feet and calves. Satisfied, she looked down at him as he slowly rose. Standing on the bottom, the water lapped at his shoulders. He shook his head, and his drenched hair flipped away from his face. He wiped the water from his eyes.

  She was several feet above him. Yet, even from that safe distance, her feet edged backward, away from the water. “Wait, no, wait, Jefferson,” she shook her head as his hands closed over the edge of the boulder. “You deserved that,” she insisted, backing up another step.

  Water sluiced from his shoulders as he heaved himself up onto the boulder. He looked down at his feet. “My boots are wet,” he observed.

  “Well, yes, I guess they are.” She bit her lip and backed up another step, eyeing the short distance between her and Daisy out of the corner of her eye. Her bare heel felt grass beneath it. “They’ll dry. Or—” she replied, backing up another step “—or, I’ll buy you another pair.”

  “Do you know,” he asked as he slicked dripping water away from his forehead, “how long it takes to break in a pair of boots? Years.” Jefferson started to sit down and groaned.

  Instantly Emily decided against escape and went to him. And found herself flying through the air. She barely had time to close her eyes when she splashed into the water. Her toes skimmed the gravelly bottom and she surfaced. “Hey!” She treaded water, wishing for a few more inches in height. She shoved her palm across the surface, sending a cascade of water flying in his face. “Faker.”

  Jefferson laughed.

  Stunned, she forgot to tread and went under again. When she came up sputtering, he was still laughing.

  It was a glorious sound. Bemused, she smiled up at him. But eventually, the goose bumps could no longer be ignored and she swam over to the boulder. “Much as I’d like to listen to you laugh yourself silly, it’s getting a tad cold in here.” She reached her hand up.

  He linked his fingers with hers and hauled her out of the water. She shook her hands, and droplets of water splattered everywhere. Not that it mattered, what with the puddles surrounding their feet. “I can’t believe we used to swim in that sometimes until the middle of September.” She grinned and looked up. “Then we only had to wait a few weeks, it seemed like, and we’d put away the swimming suits and break out the ice skates.”

  His laughter had faded, though the smile still lingered in his eyes. The leaves in the trees rustled and the breeze set off a fresh crop of goose bumps. Autumn was definitely coming. She plucked at the hem of her shirt and wrung out the water as best she could.

  Jefferson swore softly.

  “What is it?”

  He shook his head and began unbuttoning his shirt. Shrugging out of it, he handed it to her. “Here.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Jefferson, but I’m not going to warm up any by putting your wet shirt on over my own wet shirt.”

  “No, but at least I can’t see right through the fabric of mine.” He dangled his shirt in front of her. “And I’m not missing any little pieces of underwear this morning, either.”

  Her eyes flew down and she realized how transparent the cropped top had become. The wet shirt clearly displayed the bare curves beneath. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh. Give me a break, would you?”

  Emily eyed the bare expanse of chest right in front of her nose. She wanted more than anything to press herself right up against that hard plane. She wanted to explore each ridge of muscle. Kiss each nick. Each scar. “Give me a break,” she returned, trying to sound unaffected. But she took the shirt and slid her arms into it. Even though he’d folded the sleeves up to just below his elbows, they hung nearly to her wrists. Wrinkling her nose at yet another layer of wet fabric, she wrung out the shirttails as best she could, then tied them at her waist and shoved the sleeves up her arms.

  Jefferson was busy pulling off his boots. “These used to be my favorite boots,” he informed her as he upended them. A thin stream of water poured out.

  “They’re still your favorites,” Emily assured him, trying desperately not to gawk at his golden chest.

  “They’re ruined.”

  “They’re wet.”

  “Ruined.”

  She finally turned and looked toward the middle of the lake. “You’ve worn them in the rain, haven’t you? And in the snow, probably. You’d walk through puddles in the middle of the street, rather than walking around them. What’s the difference?”

  Jefferson pulled the boots back on. “The difference, angelface, is that on those occasions, the wet was on the outside.” He grimaced as his socks squished when he stood. “Now it’s on the inside.” A quick sharp whistle from between his teeth brought Daisy ambling over. He caught the reins and with one swing of his long leg, mounted up. He reached his hand down for her. “Come on, let’s get you back for some dry clothes.”

  He pulled her onto the horse, sitting her in front of him. Though still soaking, his body heat blasted through her sodden layers. She felt, rather than heard, the groan that rumbled through his chest. His arm slipped around her waist, and he turned Daisy through the trees back toward the big house.

  There was simply no way for two people to ride one horse bareback and keep any distance between their bodies. Emily didn’t even bother trying. She smoothed her palm across the hard arm holding her firmly against him. She leaned back and enjoyed.

  “So why aren’t you out haying with the rest of them?” She asked as Daisy meandered through the long grass toward the gravel road.

  “They didn’t need me.”

  “Me, either.” Her fingertips feathered through the hair lightly sprinkled across his wrist. It seemed perfectly natural to tilt her head and kiss the biceps curving past her shoulder. She barely stopped herself from pressing her lips to his warm skin.

  He snorted softly. “Angelface, the last time you went haying, Squire ended up hauling you to the doctor’s for six stitches in your leg. But if you want to think that Matt wants your assistance, you go on ahead and keep dreaming.”

  “I could do it,” she insisted halfheartedly. “If I put my mind to it. If I wanted to.”

  He clicked his tongue, and Daisy picked up her pace. “If you put your mind to it, you can do anything. But perhaps you’d best keep your interests trained toward the horses rather than the tractors, hmm?”

  “I like horses better, anyway. I do miss Bird.” She leaned forward and patted Daisy’s strong neck. “Although this pretty lady is a nice one, isn’t she? Remember how you used to talk about having your own spread? Do you still want th
at?”

  His palm pressed her backward until she nestled, once more, against his chest. “I talked about a lot of things. I was young then.”

  Emily choked on a laugh. “You’re not exactly decrepit, you know. You talk as if you have one foot in the grave.”

  He stiffened slightly against her back. “You need some dry clothes,” he said abruptly, urging Daisy into an easy lope that rapidly ate up the last several yards. He halted near the rear entrance of the big house. “Go in. I’ll take care of Daisy.”

  The bright, happy morning they’d spent together ended. Just like that. Silently she slid to the ground. He waited just long enough for her to move away before wheeling Daisy around and heading for the horse barn.

  For about the millionth time, she wished she knew what thoughts whirled in Jefferson’s head. What caused his silent torment. She wiped a drip of water from her forehead and turned to the house.

  Since there was no one about, in the mudroom she shucked off all the wet clothes except her panties. After wrapping herself in a big blue towel that had been folded atop a stack of clean laundry, she dumped her clothing into the washing machine.

  The few items were hardly worth running a load, but she started one, anyway. It was purely habit that took her upstairs to the bedrooms where she found empty hampers in Matthew’s and Daniel’s rooms. She nearly tripped over the faded black duffel bag laying on the floor of Sawyer’s room.

  She frowned, wondering why Jefferson’s duffel was in Sawyer’s room. Then she noticed the luggage tag clearly printed with Sawyer’s name and address. She picked it up and tossed it onto the bed, watching the tangle of airport tags bounce. Sawyer had almost as many tags hanging off the bag as Jefferson had hanging on his. Sawyer’s duties with the navy were obviously keeping him as busy as ever.

  She headed to Tristan’s room after finding Sawyer’s hamper empty. She gathered up the meager collection in Tristan’s hamper. Then, since she’d already checked the other rooms, she made herself walk into Jefferson’s room.

  Like Sawyer, his duffel was lying in the middle of the floor. Brothers. She shook her head and, balancing Tristan’s bundle on one hip, leaned down and plucked the items out of the wicker hamper. Quickly, she nipped down to the mudroom and started tossing Tristan’s clothing in, her fingers automatically searching through his pockets. The man was notorious for leaving pens and pencils stuck in his pockets. She’d ruined more than one load of clothing before she’d learned her lesson.

  Sure enough, she found two ballpoint pens. Shaking her head, she set them on the shelf above the washer and dumped the jeans into the agitating tub. Tucking the edge of the towel more securely between her breasts, she bent down and picked up Jefferson’s jeans. Paper crinkled from inside one of the pockets, and she fished it out, then added the jeans to the load. She absently noticed the small square of paper was a prescrip tion. She’d have to ask him if he needed it filled, then realized he’d had ample opportunities to do so at the hospital when they visited Squire.

  She reached for the shirt lying on the floor, turning when the door squeaked open. Jefferson stepped in. He’d found a faded denim shirt somewhere, though it hung unbuttoned over his chest.

  “Here,” she handed him the prescription. “It was in your pants pocket.”

  Jefferson automatically pocketed the slip. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, a load of wash. Might as well make a full load. Want to throw your wet stuff in, too?”

  “You’re wearing a towel.”

  “No kidding.” She rolled her eyes. Turning back to the washing machine, she dropped in his shirt and closed the lid. “I wasn’t going to track water all through the house.”

  “You’re parading around a house full of men, wearing nothing but a towel.”

  Good Lord, the man was furious. “You can’t be serious. For Pete’s sake, Jefferson, I’m more covered now than if I were wearing a bathing suit. Besides, nobody is even around. Except you.”

  “Is this the way you behave in San Diego?”

  “Behave?” She echoed. “Behave?” Her voice rose as she repeated the word. Tires crunched over gravel and through the window she saw Daniel, Matthew and Tristan pile out of the truck. Great. Just great. So much for being alone.

  Matthew and Daniel passed through, hardly giving her a second glance, though Daniel seemed ready to make some remark about Jefferson’s wet jeans. But he took one look at his brother and reconsidered, choosing instead to follow Matthew back to the office. Tristan, of course, wasn’t nearly so cooperative.

  He took one look at Jefferson’s wet pants, and Emily’s lack of them and whistled. “Well, lookee here. While the cat’s away…”

  “Can it,” Emily snapped without even glancing Tristan’s way. With her hands on her hips, she continued glaring up at Jefferson. “What exactly are you implying? Does it bother you to think that I might,” she clapped dramatic palms to her cheeks, “oh, my, dare I say it, actually wear a towel in my own home?” Oblivious of Tristan’s interested observance, she lifted furious hands to the knot holding the towel in place. “Lord, Jefferson, you’d probably have a coronary if you thought I might actually find myself nude once in a while. I hate to shock you, of course, but it’s easier to bathe that way.”

  Tristan choked on his snicker and at the twin glares he received, turned around and went right back outside. Emily transferred her attention back to Jefferson. Turmoil bubbled within her. “All my life, all my life, I’ve been surrounded by men who find it perfectly acceptable to walk around in their underwear. But Heaven forbid if I should present myself in anything less than a nun’s habit.” She flipped loose the knot in the towel and shoved it into Jefferson’s chest. “Well, there. This is about as bad as it gets.” She waved her arms. “But wait, the roof isn’t caving in. Oh, dear.”

  Jefferson whipped the towel back around her shoulders faster than a ladies’ maid. “That’s it,” he muttered. Bending down, he grabbed her up, flinging her over his shoulder. A hard arm clamped over her thighs, holding her, and the towel, in place as she struggled. “Cut it out.”

  Emily pounded on his back. “Put me down! I’m not a child.”

  “Then stop acting like one.” He shouldered his way through the door, striding through the empty kitchen and not stopping until he reached her bedroom. He let her go, unceremoniously dumping her onto the bed. The towel that had been wrapped about her shoulders flew free. The pillows at the head of the mattress bounced madly. “You’re asking for it, Em.”

  “Promises, promises,” she taunted.

  He leaned forward suddenly, his arms braced on the mattress to either side of her. “Acting the tart doesn’t impress me, Emily.”

  He caught her palm before it could connect with his cheek. She struggled, and he settled the matter by pinning her arms above her head.

  “Let…me…go.” She twisted against his hold but he easily subdued her efforts. His eyes closed, as if in pain, and she suddenly stilled. “What’s the matter?”

  He grunted. “You’ve got to be kidding. Even you are not that naive.”

  Insulted, she renewed her efforts to wriggle out of his hold.

  “Dammit,” he cursed, quickly evading her knee aimed at emasculating him. She was slicker than a greased doorknob. But he managed to subdue her legs with one of his. And then had to look away at the planks in the wood floor, the beam of sunlight shining through the opened curtains. Anything rather than her taut, creamy skin. Her slender waist. Her rose-tipped breasts.

  He bit off another curse and abruptly released her, moving so fast that the mattress bounced all over again. “Cover yourself.” He tossed the towel at her.

  She caught it and threw it at his head, scrambling off the bed. “If you don’t like the sights, then take your chauvinistic carcass out of here.”

  The towel hit the wall behind him. Ignoring it, he pulled open a dresser drawer. Then another until he found what he wanted. Turning back to her, he held out a long-sleeved T-shirt. “Put it o
n.” He felt a peculiar satisfaction as her hackles bristled all over again at his shamelessly autocratic order.

  She arched a flippant “make-me” eyebrow and crossed her arms. Her nipples peeked out over her arms. And she knew it, the little witch. He yanked the shirt over her head, pulling it down over her shoulders. Her arms were caught inside. “You’re trying my patience,” he warned.

  “Too damn bad.”

  He tugged on a bunched fold of shirt, jerking her off balance, but she set to wriggling again, earning himself a painful elbow in the ribs. “Dammit, Em. Be still.”

  “Don’t order me around.” She twisted, trying to make sense of the shirt tangled about her neck and shoulders. “Just because you say jump, doesn’t mean I’m going to ask how high.” She made a frustrated face then yanked off the shirt rather than try to make sense out of the twisted mess.

  His jaw locked. She shook out the shirt, seeming to take an inordinate amount of time with it. “I warned you,” he gritted, anchoring his hand in her hair. Then he kissed her.

  She bit his lip.

  He slowly lifted his head and touched a finger to the tiny bead of blood. “Like it rough, do you?”

  Her cheeks flamed. No other person in existence had the ability to drive her beyond the borders of reasonable behavior. She looked everywhere but at him. For the truth of it was, she liked it any way it came as long as it was from him. She fumbled with the shirt trying to pull it down, but his hands blocked hers.

  Going still, she looked up at him. Her breasts swelled from the heat blazing in his eyes. Without conscious thought, she swayed toward him and groaned low in her throat when his fingers brushed across her flesh. Thumb and finger circled a peak and she lost her breath. His fingers lightly pinched the taut nipple, and desire arrowed sharply to her core. Then his mouth replaced his hand, his teeth scraping over her hypersensitive skin.

  Her hands knotted in his hair. Her breath hissed between her teeth. Before she knew what she was doing, her hands had dropped her shirt and were sliding into the neck of his.

  Just that fast, he shoved himself away from her, raking his fingers through his hair.