The Buckhorn Brothers Box Set: Sawyer\Morgan\Gabe\Jordan (80 page)

Her eyes slanted his way, heavy with fatigue. “You don’t approve of me.”

Fighting the urge to shake her, Jordan frowned. “Wrong. I don’t approve of where you work. They’re two entirely different things.”

She laughed at that, and focused on flexing the arch of her left foot with intense concentration.

Jordan caught her wrists. “What are you doing?”

“My feet hurt.” Her tone was abrupt, as if that particular question had annoyed her more than anything else. “Try staying on your feet all damn day—in high heels no less—and your feet’ll hurt, too.”

He flexed his jaw. He told himself to just leave. He even cursed himself privately in the silence of his own mind. But it didn’t make one whit of difference. He was already so far off track, he had no idea where he was going, but was just as intent on getting there.

“Lay down.”

She reared back as if he’d struck her.
“What?”

Jordan caught her hips and pulled her toward him so that she landed flat on her back on the flowered cushions. She was stunned for a moment, not moving, and before she could gather her wits he deftly flipped her onto her stomach. He had her feet in his lap and his gaze glued to the sight of her rounded ass in the loose shorts, by the time she started to struggle. He must have masochistic tendencies, he decided, tightening his grip on her ankles, holding her secure.

Georgia levered up on stiffened arms, gasping in outrage—until his fingers moved deeply over the arch of her left foot, then up and over her toes. She gave a long, husky, vibrating groan.

The sound of her unrestrained pleasure made Jordan break out in a sweat. Her shoulders went limp and her head dropped forward as if her neck had no strength to hold it up. “This isn’t fair.”

“What?”

“A voice that seduces, perfect coffee, and now a foot massage.” She groaned again. “Ohmigod, that feels good.”

Jordan closed his eyes and applied himself to giving her the best damn foot rub she’d ever had in her life. “Relax,” he ordered, though he was so rigid a mere touch would have shattered him.

She obeyed. She dropped flat to the glider and rested her head on her folded arms. Every few seconds she moaned in bliss, stretching her toes like a cat being petted.

Jordan was so hard he hurt. He desperately wanted to slide his hands up the backs of her firm thighs, to slip his fingers beneath the loose hem of the shorts she wore. Probably, he reasoned, she’d thought the shorts to be unappealing because they were old and gray and faded. But the material hugged her curves and they were loose enough in the legs that he could now see all the way to the tops of her thighs.

He slid his hands up her warm, resilient calves. She had excellent muscle tone, and even as he stroked her, kneading her flesh, feeling her muscles relax, he admitted he was beyond pathetic when a woman’s muscle tone brought him to the edge.

Feeling like a damn lecher, he lifted one of her legs and was even able to see the edge of her panties, which—contrary to all he’d been telling himself—nearly made him erupt with carnal greed.

In a rasp totally unlike his normal seductive tone, he said, “Agree to my help, damn it.”

She sighed, adjusted her head more comfortably and murmured in a barely there voice, “It wouldn’t be right.”

Affronted, Jordan realized she was on the verge of sleep. Conflicting emotions bombarded him. Lust was there, tearing at his resolve, making his guts cramp, but there was also a throbbing explosion of tenderness, enough to expand his heart and tighten his lungs.

“I want to help you, Georgia.”

She sighed, and in the next instant started to snore softly. A reluctant smile curved his mouth. Never in his benighted life had a woman fallen asleep on him. It was a novelty he could have lived without, but then it occurred to him that perhaps this was exactly what he needed to gain the upper hand.

“Georgia?” He continued working the tendons in her feet, something he knew from experience that all women seemed to enjoy. Personally, if a female was going to rub him, he could think of better places than his feet.

She didn’t reply and after he gently placed her foot in his lap, he reached up and shook her shoulder.

She never stirred.

Jordan sat back with a grin. She’d said her children were very sound sleepers and now he knew that it was an inherited trait.

Beyond his feelings of triumph—because he really did have her now—it dawned on him that she was as vulnerable as a woman could be with a man, so she must trust him to some degree. And he wasn’t above taking advantage of it.

He stroked her hair, silky soft and warm. He indulged his need to touch her, to learn the textures and curves of her face, her neck, her shoulder. Her spine was graceful, leading down to that superior rump that looked so damn tantalizing there before him, like an offering.

He was an honorable man, so he kept his hands on safe ground, but he looked at every inch of her, then whispered, “I’ve got you now, sweetheart.”

And still she didn’t move.

It took a lot of willpower to walk away from her, to find a blanket to cover her with and then to walk out of the room. But he managed it; he had a lot of fortitude when something really mattered.

And this mattered. Much as he hated to admit it, it mattered too damn much.

6

G
EORGIA WOKE
with the sunlight bright in her face. She didn’t move, at first making an attempt to orient herself. Something wasn’t right. She squinted; why was there so much light?

As her eyes adjusted, she saw the huge oak in her backyard through dirty windows, stately and still, not a single leaf stirring. There must be no wind, she thought, now that the dreadful rain had obviously ended.

And then it dawned on her that she wasn’t in her own bed where she should be, or she certainly wouldn’t be looking at the backyard. She was, as incredible as it seemed, in the enclosed patio curled up on the glider under a quilt.

She was still putting those thoughts together in the cobwebs of her mind when she heard a faint, muffled laugh. Lisa, then Adam. They sounded happy and for just a moment she thought everything was as it was supposed to be, as it had been the day before. Her mother, an early riser, was probably making coffee and the kids liked to hang next to her, waiting for cereal, chattering nonstop. Georgia always got up when she heard the kids, even though she was still exhausted and even though she knew her mother would complain and tell her to sleep more—and then she heard another deeper, more masculine laugh.

Jordan!

She jerked upright so fast the glider rolled, nearly spilling her onto the floor. Her heart racing, she remembered everything, her near arrest, her mother’s illness—that orgasmic foot rub Jordan had been giving her late last night.

She twisted to face the kitchen behind her, and sure enough, that was Jordan’s rough-velvet voice whispering, “Shhh. We don’t want your mother to wake up yet. She had a long night.”

Adam, sounding a bit blurry as if he hadn’t been awake long himself, said, “Mommy always gets up with us, even when grandma grouches at her ‘bout it.”

Lisa bragged, “She won’t hear anything, but she always hears us. Even when we’re quiet. Grandma says that’s a mommy’s sixth sense.”

“You’ve got an excellent mommy.” Jordan said that with conviction, and Georgia wondered if he meant it. More likely he was merely trying to appease the kids. “But today we’ll try to let her catch up on sleep.”

Lisa asked, “Can I have the next pancake?”

Pancake?

“Absolutely. I can’t believe you’ve eaten two already. Are you sure they’re in your belly? You didn’t hide one behind your ear?”

Lisa laughed again and Adam joined her.

Georgia nearly choked. She’d been sleeping so soundly one minute, and jarred awake the next, that she felt nearly drunk as she staggered to her feet in righteous indignation and groped her way toward the kitchen. Jordan was feeding her children? He had invaded her kitchen? What in the world was he doing here so early? The kids knew better than to go anywhere near the doors without her or their grandmother. She’d reminded them again and again that they were never ever to open the door to anyone.

Georgia stopped in the entryway, her thoughts scattering at the sight of Jordan. He looked…
gorgeous.
Sinfully gorgeous. His light brown hair was mussed, his jaw rough with beard stubble, his sleeves rolled back over his thick forearms. And he wore an apron around his waist.

For the first time she understood the appeal of “barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen”. Jordan’s bare feet looked very sexy, and though he wasn’t in the family way, he was being domestic—which she assumed was the point. He smiled at Lisa and it made her heart expand painfully against her rib cage. Georgia rubbed a hand under her breast, trying to ease the constriction, but it didn’t help.

God, the man looked good standing at her stove. He looked good with her children, too. And he looked far, far too good in her life.

Both kids wore aprons as well, tied up under their armpits and with the hems dragging near the floor. They were huddled around the stove while Jordan used a turkey baster to put pancake batter on the griddle with complex precision.

“I’m an artist,” he proclaimed, and both kids quickly agreed.

Curiosity swamped her, and when she finally got her hungry gaze off Jordan and onto the griddle she saw that he was making the most odd-shaped pancakes she’d ever seen. They were…well, they looked like faces. And fish. And…

“Mommy!”

Adam rushed to her, nearly knocking her off her feet as he barreled into her legs. Jordan looked up with a frown. Lisa ran to her and took her hand.

It was traditional for them to share kisses and hugs first thing in the morning, and this morning was no different.

It wasn’t traditional, however, for a very large, very sexy man to be looking on. A man with noticeable chest hair showing through the open collar of his shirt. A man with very warm, appreciative eyes.

Maybe the kids hadn’t let him in. Maybe—she gulped—he’d spent the night! She couldn’t seem to remember anything after he’d started working on her feet. Nothing except how incredibly good it had felt.

Heat rushed into her face and Jordan smiled as if he knew exactly why she blushed. Georgia ignored him, holding both children close, relishing the feel of their small arms tight around her neck, their sweet, familiar smells. She could never truly regret the mistakes in her life, because it was those mistakes that had given her Lisa and Adam.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to make those mistakes again. Having a male stranger invade her life so easily not only showed her irresponsibility, but her stupidity. She couldn’t let it happen. She
wouldn’t
let it happen.

She’d barely straightened when both kids began extolling Jordan’s virtues, how funny he was, his culinary expertise, his artistic talent. He’d already promised to show them new kittens at his office, and to take them along the next time he had to treat a horse or cow.

Like a damn new puppy, they wanted to keep him. Forever.

Georgia ground her teeth together and concentrated on getting her sluggish brain in gear. Adam demanded her attention with the typical enthusiasm of a four-year-old boy.

It was an effort, but Georgia hefted his sturdy little body into her arms. He clasped her face and said, “We been cookin’!”

“So I see.” Her words ended on a jaw-splitting yawn and since her hands were full holding up her tank of a son, she couldn’t quite cover her mouth.

Jordan ushered Lisa away from the stove with a gentle touch. “Not too close, hon. I want to get your mother some coffee before she topples over, and you never know when a pancake might explode. So don’t go near the griddle without me, okay?”

Lisa held her sides as she laughed, but she did as he asked, settling into her chair at the table.

Without her permission, Jordan relieved her of Adam’s weight, holding her son as if he had the right, as if he’d known how unsteady she still felt, and to her further annoyance, Adam clung to him.

Cooking, coffee, foot massage, and now coddling her kids; the man knew his way into a woman’s heart.

Jordan handed her the coffee cup as a replacement for Adam. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

Fragrant steam rose from the cup, making the coffee impossible to resist. She took one long hot sip and felt her head begin to clear. “Nothing on earth,” she said with relish, “tastes better than that first sip of coffee in the morning.”

His eyes took on a warm glow. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He looked at her mouth, and heat shot down her spine, doing more than the coffee had to revive her.

Jordan smiled at her as he deftly seated Adam at the table and put a square pancake on his plate. “Why don’t you sit down, Georgia, and I’ll tell you what the hospital had to say this morning.”

Her brain threatened to burst. Georgia glanced at the clock and saw it was only eight. “You’ve called them already?”

“Yes. I thought you’d probably want to know something as soon as you woke.”

He was right, of course. Not only did he excite her, he read her mind.

“They said your mother rested peacefully through the night and that she’s doing much better this morning. The doctor will be in to see her sometime between eleven and one, so I thought you’d like to be there.” He looked her over, taking in the rumpled clothes she’d slept in. “I’d planned to wake you in an hour or so to give you time to get ready.”

Wake her? She was both relieved and slightly disappointed to have missed that happening. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been awakened by a man. Before the divorce, she was always the one up first. To have Jordan wake her…it would have been a novel experience.

Dazed, Georgia looked around the kitchen. For the first time she could remember since moving in, it was spotless. Not a dish out of place, other than the ones now loaded with the odd pancake shapes. The counters were all spotless, the floor clean, the sink polished. Even the toys that were forever under foot had all been put away. The dozens of colored pictures by Adam and Lisa were neatly organized on the front of the refrigerator.