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“Olivia? Your hat.”
The way he said her name with a slight accent made her shiver, and she seriously thought about forgetting the Stetson. Especially when she turned around and saw the play of muscles across his tanned back as he bent to pick it up.
“Uh, thanks.” She tried to grab the hat when he held it up to her, but he kept it a few inches out of reach. “That isn’t very gentlemanly.”
His eyebrows rose in phony surprise. “Did I claim to be a gentleman?” Smugness lifted his lips in a half smile. “One kiss, for one hat.”
“Talk about obsessions. What’s with you and kissing?”
“Ah, you do not like the sport.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Sport?” She threw up her hands. “That’s the problem with guys like you. You think…you think…kissing is a…is a sport. No thanks.”
Great. Now she was a liar and unoriginal. Because, despite her words to the contrary, she very much wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to feel breathless, and get that squishy feeling again that made her insides turn into Jell-O.
“We have known each other for only twenty minutes.” He slid the rim of her hat between two fingers in an unhurried, annoying fashion. “What would you call it?”
The truth stung. She held out her hand. “Give me the hat.”
He smiled. “I had forgotten how interesting you Americans can be. In my country, the women do not play these games.”
“Do they have a choice?”
His expression tightened. “How much do you know about my country? Are you that wise in other cultures?”
Livy grimaced. Apart from the fact she had no idea where Sharif was actually from, she sure as heck didn’t know much about geography or other countries, period. She’d only squeaked her way through school because Father Mike would have tarred and feathered her if she hadn’t. Riding horses had been a much preferable pastime.
Remembering how his servant dressed like something out of the movies, she said, “I bet you have a harem.”
His eyes darkened, and his voice was low and edgy. “I force no one. Women come to me freely.”
“You do have a harem?” She’d spoken impulsively, not truly believing such a thing existed, but from the look on his face…“Holy cow! You are something else.”
“And you have a very vivid imagination.”
“Which is about to leak out without my hat on. Hand it over.”
“You know the terms.” He dangled it just out of reach.
“I thought you didn’t have to force women.”
“Do you truly feel coerced?” He was looking at her like that again, studying her face with an eerie single-mindedness, lingering on her lips as if she was some kind of dessert.
And like a darn fool, her entire body was getting all feeble again. “I think I’ll call you Shay. I went to school with a kid named Shay and he was a royal pain, too.” She chuckled at her little joke. He didn’t. “It’s close enough to Sharif.”
Just as she’d hoped, he forgot all about the hat and scowled at her. “I forbid you to call me by that name.”
“Really?” She jumped up and snatched the Stetson out of his hand. “Thank you very much,” she said with a sarcastic grin, while walking backward away from him. “Shay.”
If she’d only kept the taunt to herself she probably could have made it out of the barn. But her hesitation allowed him to lunge forward and grab her around the waist. She dropped the hat, lost her footing and they both tumbled to the ground.
She scrambled to keep from being pinned beneath him, but she wasn’t quick enough. “Get off. You’re squashing the life out of my windpipe.”
That wasn’t all. Her breasts were crushed against his shoulder, and the really scary part was she kind of liked it.
He eased up, and just when she thought he was going to let her go, he repositioned himself, straddling her, keeping her back flat to the ground. His fingers locked around her wrists as he stared down at her with a triumphant smile.
“What did you call me?” The slight cocky lift of his left eyebrow made her see red.
She glared back at him, weighing the use of a threat against indifference. Except she was far too aware of the strength in his thighs pressing against her hips, and she couldn’t think all that straight.
“This is very undignified, Your Highness,” she finally said, and was pleased to see his jaw clench.
“True,” he said, with a slight shift of his hips. “But quite pleasant.”
Boy, howdy. She swallowed. This was so unreal. Not a blessed guy she knew would ever think of manhandling her this way. “Aren’t you afraid your flunky will come in here and find you bullying me?”
“If you really wanted to end this, you would simply call me Sharif.”
The truth brought a wave of realization and shame that made Livy’s cheeks burn. “Sharif,” she quickly murmured.
But it was too late. He knew she’d enjoyed his attention, the brief taboo run on the wild side. His expression didn’t show it, though, and for that she was grateful.
As soon as she started to move, he got off. When he offered a hand, she took it. He pulled her to her feet but didn’t immediately let her go. His gaze holding hers, he touched her shoulder. His warm fingertips met with bare skin.
She realized then that she’d lost a button and her too-big shirt had slid off her shoulder. He surprised her by gently pulling the fabric in place. Then he kissed her.
Just as her stubborn shirt slipped down again, a flash went off at the barn door.
Chapter Three
Sharif turned in time to see the back of the man’s blue jacket and blond hair as he fled the barn. It took Sharif a moment to realize what had just happened. Even though he should have smelled the damn reporter from a hundred yards away, vile creatures that they all were.
Without even a glance at Livy, he ran after the man, but he was too late. All he caught was a glimpse of a speeding dark sedan, creating so much dust it was hard to see anything at all.
He swore loudly when he remembered he had no shirt. What a picture that would make. His father would not be pleased. Rose’s feelings, Sharif did not care about.
Looking back toward the barn, he saw no sign of the woman. Olivia. With the big innocent violet eyes. He let out a heavy sigh and shoved a hand through his hair. Hay flew everywhere. He swore again.
For a moment he thought about returning to her. She had been a most pleasant distraction from his maddening thoughts. That she was a timid partner did not bother him. In fact, the new experience had been stimulating. Her uncertainty had barely masked her eagerness to explore, a naivetе he found enchanting.
She was young, barely twenty he guessed. Perhaps she had not yet been with a man. Although in his experience with American and European women, youth meant little in terms of sexual enlightenment.
He would run into Olivia Smith with the bewitching violet eyes again, he was sure of it. But for now, his thoughts were tainted with the intrusion of the reporter, and the possible repercussions of a suggestive photograph.
Sharif frowned when he realized what little regard he had given such offenses in the past. And much to the displeasure of his parents, there had been a considerable number of compromising situations that had provided fodder for the tabloids. What was different now? Was maturity finally replacing his childish antics?
As much as he wanted to believe age and wisdom were responsible, deep down Sharif knew better. Life was no longer so simple. The entitlement and privilege, the very foundation of his being he had taken for granted a mere two weeks ago were more precarious today. And Sharif wished more than anything he had been kept in ignorance. Because for the first time in his life, he understood fear.
HALF THE MORNING HAD GONE by before Livy got up the nerve to return Shay’s shirt. She seldom had reason to go to the main house and everyone would wonder what the heck she was doing there. Maybe she ought to just leave the darn thing in the barn, and Shay could let his servant fetch it.
If she were smart that’s exactly what she would do, she told herself as she marched up the slope toward the house. So far, no one had given her any funny looks that said they knew what had happened in the barn yesterday. She still cringed every time one of the other hands so much as looked her way, though, half expecting them to make some remark. But she supposed it was her own guilty conscience acting up.
And why shouldn’t it, with the racy dreams she’d had last night. She could’ve sworn she was having one of those hot flashes she’d heard about. Now, just thinking about her and Shay rolling around in their skivvies in her dream brought on a heat wave, and she stopped to mop her forehead.
The last thing she wanted to do was get all hot and sweaty by the time she got to the house. Not that it should matter. Working outside under the hot sun, she could get pretty ripe by eleven most mornings. And that was with her hat on. Today she’d left it off. Even under the best circumstances her hair looked like someone had used a mixing bowl to cut it. There was no need to let it get all stuck to her head. After all, she was going to the main house.
Who was she kidding?
Grunting in disgust, she jammed her hat on her head and hurried up the slope. By the time she arrived at the kitchen door, the silk shirt she had carefully ironed was a crumpled mess.
Through the screen she saw Ella Grover sitting at the kitchen table, her head bowed. Livy frowned at the confusing picture. The spry cook was always bustling around the stove. But it was Vi Coleman who was stirring something in a skillet. She jerked and turned at Livy’s knock, her red hair in disarray around her face.
“Livy! Am I glad to see you. Come on in.” Mrs. Coleman sighed, then sent a stern look toward Ella when the older woman started to rise. “Sit. Livy will refill your water.” Mrs. Coleman turned beseeching green eyes toward Livy. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” Livy cast the shirt aside and hurried to the table for the empty glass. “What’s wrong, Ella? You sick?”
“No,” the woman said, and scowled at her boss.
“Ouch!” Vi Coleman jerked her hand away from the skillet handle. “Gosh darn it.”
“I told you to use a pot holder with that one,” Ella said, and started to rise again.
“Ella Grover, if you don’t stay in that chair, so help me, I’ll have Randy carry you to your room.”
At the mention of Mr. Coleman, the cook snorted. “Ain’t nobody going to lift this body and live.”
Livy hid a grin as she returned the filled glass to the table. Ella and her husband Hal had been with the Colemans for so many years they were more like family than employees. That’s what Livy liked most about living and working on the Desert Rose. The Colemans never treated anyone like an outsider. Not even her.
“Can I help you with something, Mrs. Coleman?” she asked, her gaze sweeping the cluttered counters and food spills. It was weird to see the kitchen like this. Ella usually kept it so spotless.
“I’d sure appreciate it. Ella had a dizzy spell and I don’t want to call Abbie for help what with the baby due so soon.” She pulled a red gingham oven mitt out of the drawer. “But you’ve got to start calling me Vi.” Mrs. Coleman smiled. “For goodness’ sakes, you’ve worked here for over fours years now. You’re practically family.”
Family. A lump blocked Livy’s throat and she couldn’t swallow. She blinked just in case her eyes got any strange ideas about tearing up. All she had ever wanted was to find a place to belong. She never dreamed she could be so lucky. “Okay…Vi.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not much of a cook, but if you tell me what to do, I’m sure we can get lunch on the table in no time.”
Vi and Ella exchanged bland looks. “Breakfast,” Vi said.
Livy looked at the oak-carved wall clock. Everyone at the ranch should have been up and at ’em hours ago.
“Don’t ask.” Vi pushed stray hair away from her shiny damp face and opened the oven. The aroma of biscuits filled the kitchen.
“She don’t have to ask.” Ella snorted, and inclined her head toward the tray of biscuits Vi removed. “And if you think he’s gonna be content with such peasant food, you’re kidding yourself.”
Livy’s eyes widened. Shay. She should have known.
“Come on, Ella, he’s from a different culture, and he is the boys’ brother. Besides, he won’t be here long. It won’t hurt to be nice to him.” Vi’s gaze darted to Livy. “So we all smile, okay?”
“Don’t worry.” Livy shrugged, and turning to grab an apron, muttered, “I’ve already met his royal pain in the butt.”
Vi’s gasp told her she’d spoken too loudly. Ella chuckled.
Heat climbed Livy’s neck. “I’m sorry. He’s your guest and I shouldn’t have said that.”
Vi shook her head and turned to lift the biscuits off the baking sheets. But not before Livy saw her check a grin. “Get the butter out of the refrigerator, will you?”
Livy breathed with relief and did as she was asked. “How about the cream?”
“It probably isn’t thick or sweet enough for him.”
“Ella.” Vi’s voice was strained. “Please.”
The cook gave Livy a quick look then stared down at her hands. No one said anything after that. Vi finished arranging the biscuits on a red cloth napkin lining a basket, and Livy stacked some plates to be taken into the dining room.
Vi was usually the most pleasant, even-tempered person Livy had ever met. But not lately. Her mood could sink lower than the hundred-year-old well out back. There was lots of speculation around the ranch about what was happening. Everyone loved her and they were all concerned.
Personally, Livy figured Vi’s moodiness had to do with all the attention her husband was paying one of the boarders. Her name was Savannah and she was one of those gals who always had on just the right clothes and makeup. Still, Livy didn’t think it was anything to worry about. She’d be a mighty happy woman if she had a husband like Randy Coleman looking at her the way he looked at Vi.
Ella made a tsking noise with her tongue. “You gonna stand there woolgatherin’, or help Vi?”
Livy gave the older woman a cheeky grin. “Good thing you’re such a good cook, because you sure are bossy.”
Ella tried to snap a dish towel across Livy’s fanny, but Livy was too quick and scooted out of the way. “Tell that to His Highness in there.” Ella inclined her head toward the dining room. “He already turned down my blueberry pancakes.”
Livy stopped two feet from the dining room door. Panic fluttered in her belly. He was in there? Already? She thought he was upstairs waiting to be called down. She wasn’t ready to face him yet.
“What’s wrong, Livy? You look as pale as Ella.” Vi put down the spatula and stared at her with concern. “I hope there isn’t a bug going around.”
Livy took a quick breath. “Nope. I’m fine. I was just…” She took another breath, this one deeper. “I was just wondering if I should take some coffee out there.”
“Good idea. I made a fresh pot. Rose was going to come get it, but she must be catching up with her son.”
Livy nodded absently, vaguely recalling that Shay was Rose’s son and that they had only recently met. But it was hard to imagine an elegant, kind lady like Rose having an arrogant, fathead son like Shay.
After retrieving the coffeepot and patting her hair down, Livy pushed through the dining room door. She was tempted to pass by the antique mirror hanging over the corner buffet, but she decided she didn’t give a fig about how she looked. Sort of.
His back was to her, his dark hair damp, probably from his shower. Of course, everyone else had been up for hours doing chores. She doubted he’d ever done a lick of work in his life.
Rose sat to his right, her blond hair held back in a youthful ponytail, making Livy wish she hadn’t let Mickey whack hers off. Another place was set across from Rose, but there was no sign of anyone else.
When a floorboard creaked under Livy’s boot, Rose looked up and smiled. “What a surprise to see you here,” she said, and Livy tried not to wince. “Have you met my son?”
Shay didn’t even bother to turn around to see who Rose was talking to. Livy briefly thought she could set down the coffee and cream and get out before he saw her. Especially after Rose’s comment. He was going to think Livy was here to see him. Which was mostly true, but still…
A slight frown creased the older woman’s brows, and Livy realized she hadn’t responded. Hadn’t done anything, in fact, but stare at the back of Shay’s immobile head. “Uh, yeah, we met,” she mumbled, and saw him straighten.
“Oh, really?” Rose smiled again, and looked from Livy to Shay. “At the stables?”
An innocent question, a logical one, really, since that’s where Livy worked, but she stiffened with guilt and Shay finally turned toward her. It was a slow, almost reluctant movement that set Livy’s teeth clenching. Just before she would have met his eyes, she bowed her head to pour the coffee.
