“I don’t know. I didn’t come here with the intention of staying. I only wanted some time to decompress. I just dumped my career, and then there was this guy-” She cut herself off, sending Rafferty a rueful look. “Well, that’s another story. Anyway, I actually got some poor unsuspecting innocent to buy all my stenographer’s equipment. I was coming here to celebrate. Lucy would have loved it-the ultimate nose-thumbing of convention and all that… I sure as hell didn’t bargain for any of this.”

A shiver ran through her, and she pulled her old jacket a little closer around her, the appalling state of her fingernails catching her attention. The ones she hadn’t bitten off had broken off during her cleaning marathon. Her fingers were chapped and raw from countless cycles of wet and dry. Lucy would have hustled her off for an emergency manicure.

“Should have worn gloves,” J.D. murmured. He turned her hand over and studied her palm and the callused tips of her fingers. Rubbing those pads of hard flesh, he could still remember the sound of her guitar and her low, husky voice, the sweetness, the poignancy of the music made by these fine-boned hands.

Mari’s breath went thin in her lungs as he examined and explored her hand. Currents of something warm and intoxicating traveled up her arm and spread through her body in waves. She stared at him, wondering exactly what it was, wondering if he felt it too. His hand was warm and rough and huge, swallowing hers up as if she were a child. The latent strength in it set off a fluttering in the base of her throat.

“You’ll end up with rancher’s hands,” he said.

Instantly, she thought of his rancher’s hands-touching her, dark skin against light, calluses caressing the softest parts of her-and a flash fire swept through her. This is weird, Marilee. Chemistry-that was the explanation. Too bad she didn’t understand chemistry any better now than she had in high school.

J.D. raised his eyes to meet hers and felt as if he had been lulled into some kind of trance. He wasn’t the kind of man to lose control, to act the fool over some pretty blonde. That had been his father’s role in life. And Will’s. But not even that bitter reminder could make him pull his hand away from Mari’s or make him look away from her. She stared up at him, her deep, dark, clear blue eyes awash in wonder, her lips parted slightly in surprise. The taste of those lips lingered in his memory, teasing him, tempting him.

It’s just sex, he assured himself. Nothing more complicated than a rush of hormones.

He leaned down and settled his mouth over hers. She opened to him readily, a symbolic gesture that shot molten heat through the pit of his belly. He slid his tongue into her mouth, completing the symbol, taking them to the threshold of the next level in the age-old game.

He kissed her deeply, possessively, sliding his free hand into the tangle of her hair to cup the back of her head and hold her at the angle he liked best. His other hand was still twined with hers between them. As desire pooled and throbbed in his groin, he drew her hand to him, bent her small fingers around his erection, and groaned at the heady combination of pleasure and pain.

“That’s how much I want you, Mary Lee,” he whispered roughly, dragging his mouth from her lips to her jaw to the shell of her ear. He pulled the lobe between his teeth, biting gently, then sucking.

“That’s saying a lot.” Her brain felt wrapped in gauze, logic trapped between the layers of mindless need, overwhelmed by Rafferty’s masculinity and sexuality.

“I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me.” He wedged a hand between her legs and rubbed her through her jeans.

A moan was the only response she could manage. The heat was incredible. She felt as if she were melting. She stroked her palm down the length of him and imagined too easily how he would feel entering her, filling her.

He kissed her again, roughly, wildly. His fingers fumbled for the tab of her zipper.

“Let me,” he growled. He nipped the side of her neck, then kissed where he’d bitten. “Let me fuck you, Mary Lee.”

His blunt language shot a jolt of excitement through her. At the same time, it struck a tender nerve. This would mean nothing to him but slaking a need. He had been very plain about that from the start. He didn’t have to love her. He didn’t even have to like her.

She wasn’t a prude. She had gone to bed with men she didn’t love. But there had always been a mutual respect and friendship, if nothing else. Here there was nothing else.

And still she wanted him.

The conflicting emotions swirled through her head, making her dizzy, making her feel as if she were falling.

Then her backside hit the ground so hard, her teeth snapped together and her eyes popped open. She had managed to fall off the bench.

“Wow.” She struggled to her feet, knees wobbling, and dusted off the seat of her jeans. “I’ve heard of kisses knocking a girl on her butt,” she joked weakly, “but I never took it literally.”

Embarrassment burned in her cheeks, and she turned slightly away from him, rubbing the sensation with her fingertips as if she could erase any telltale sign of it. Her hands were trembling. God, her whole body was shaking. Amazing. When was the last time a man had made her tremble with the power of his kiss? Never. And when was the last time a man had made her want so badly, her brain shut down and primal instincts took over? Never.

You’re in big trouble here, Marilee.

J.D. took her by the arm and turned her toward him. “Let’s go up to the house and finish this in a bed.”

Mari stepped away from him, shaking her head. Her hair tumbled down around her face, partially hiding her. “No.”

“No?” he said, incredulous. “I didn’t hear you saying no when you had your hand wrapped around my dick.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, nearly choking on the tension within her. “I can’t do this.”

“The hell you can’t, Mary Lee,” J.D. growled. “You drop your panties, spread your legs, and I make us both happy. It’s as simple as that.”

“Not for me, it isn’t. I don’t have sex with a man just because I happen to be handy when he needs it.”

“Lucy did,” he said cruelly.

Mari lifted her chin and stared at him through a thin sheen of tears as hurt coursed through her. “I’m not Lucy.”

Her pride kicked him square and hard in the chest. She wasn’t being coy. She wasn’t playing games. She was standing up to him. Again. And damned if she wasn’t pretty, standing there with those big, jewel-blue eyes glaring at him through her tears and her tangled blond hair.

The hard throb of need ebbed a bit. J.D. reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Scowling, he swiped the tears that had spilled over her lashes, leaving them spiky and dark. He gave her the handkerchief and ordered her to blow her nose. Then he combed her hair back with his fingers and tilted her face up.

“This isn’t finished, Mary Lee,” he said, his voice quiet, his expression stern. “Not by a long way. It might not happen tonight or tomorrow, but it’s damn well gonna happen. That’s a promise.”

It sounded more like a threat, but Mari said nothing as he turned and went into the barn.

Twilight was fading fast. Night crept down the mountainside in long, cool, black fingers that carried the scent of pine and damp earth. Somewhere along the valley a bull elk called to his harem, a high-pitched, whistling squeal that looped into a trumpet blast. Eerie and beautiful.

Rafferty’s horse stood waiting patiently, tied to a rail of the corral, one hind leg cocked, his eyes half closed, his lower lip drooping. A pair of chipmunks had scampered into the corral to inspect the new pile of debris. They ran over it and through it, chattering a mile a minute.

Mari just stood there, trembling, Rafferty’s promise ringing in her ears. They would end up in bed together.