|
Phantom Waltz:
Ryan couldn't stop staring. Her face was small and heart-shaped, with sculpted cheekbones, a pointy chin with just a hint of stubbornness, and a soft, sweet mouth. The tip of her delicately bridged nose was shiny and sported a smattering of freckles, which told him her flawless complexion was natural.
"What seems to be the problem?" she asked.
He started to tell her, but for an instant, his mind went as empty as a wrangler's pocket right before payday, and he couldn't remember why the hell he was there.
He had the strangest feeling, dead center in his chest—a sense of recognition—as if he'd subconsciously been searching for her all his life. Crazy. Love at first sight was more his brother's style. Ryan shopped for women like he did for boots, trying them on for size before he settled in for a long-term relationship, and even at that, he'd yet to find a comfortable enough fit to last him a lifetime.
Sweet Nothings
Stripped to the waist, his bare upper torso rippled in a glorious display of rugged strength. Muscle bunched and flattened as he moved, his sun-bronzed skin glistening with sweat. Molly wasn't usually given to gaping at people—she didn't care to be stared at and felt it was rude—but good manners momentarily abandoned her.
He was beautiful.
It was an inappropriate description for a man, she knew, but it was the only word that came to mind. His broad shoulders and back angled in a classic wedge to a lean waist, the furrow of his spine forming a shadowy line down to the top of his jeans. Faded denim sheathed powerfully roped legs that seemed to stretch forever. His body was as sculpted and perfect as a carving in seasoned oak. Just looking at him aroused everything within her that was feminine.
The reaction surprised her. Since her divorce, she had sworn off men. Some women enjoyed the game. Others could never quite grasp the rules. She'd learned from hard experience that she fell into the latter category.
As if he sensed her presence, the man suddenly turned to look over his shoulder. When he spotted her, he went stock-still. Even at a distance, his eyes were as blue and searing as laser beams.
A wave of self-consciousness crashed over Molly, and she wished she'd taken the time to dress for a trip to the country. First impressions were important, and Sonora Sunset's life hung in the balance. Her comfortable wedge heels—practical, go-anywhere shoes in the city—were frivolous and inappropriate for this type of terrain. She brushed at her slacks. Beneath her palms, she felt the network of creases her sweaty body had steam-pressed into the twill. There was nothing more unflattering to fat thighs than wrinkled khaki.
The man shifted his gaze to her trendy SUV, then to the huge horse trailer. Over here in this land of macho four-wheel drive trucks, a Toyota pulling a two-stall trailer clearly wasn't a common sight. An expression of incredulity crossed his dark face. That made them even. She'd been expecting Robert Redford, and instead she'd got "I'm too sexy for my shirt."
|
