Millionaire on Her Doorstep by Stella Bagwell Page A

and her heart hammered as her gaze slipped up and down the length of him. His faded jeans were dusty, the thighs spotted with stains. The front of his pale blue shirt was dark with sweat, while the sleeves were rolled to his elbows. A rusty shadow of beard covered his jaw and upper lip.
And as Maureen looked at him, she knew she was seeing sex appeal in its rawest form.
    â€œLooks like you’ve been working,” she said.
    He opened a cabinet door and took down a glass. As he approached the refrigerator, Maureen moved a few steps aside.
    â€œMy mother and sister allowed me to help in the stables this evening,” he said.
    â€œAllowed?”
    Seeing the curious arch to her brow, Adam knew his statement had puzzled her. “Maybe no one’s bothered to explain to you that my mother and sister raise and train racehorses. And they’re very picky about whom they let near them.”
    â€œEven you?”
    She sounded incredulous, and he grunted with dry amusement. “Yeah. Even me.”
    â€œAren’t you a horseman?”
    He filled his glass with water from the door dispenser and took several long swallows before he answered. “I grew up on a horse. And I suppose I can handle one as well as the next man. But racehorses are a different matter entirely. I don’t have the patience for their hot temperaments.”
    â€œI can believe that,” she murmured.
    He shot her a wry glance. “Surely you don’t think I’m high-strung.”
    She took a sip of her juice, then carefully licked her lips. Adam’s gaze followed the lazy movement of her tongue and he tried not to groan out loud. There was hardly a minute in the day that didn’t go by without his thinking of making love to Maureen York. And he was beginning to wonder just how much time it was going to take to cure him of the mental torture.

    â€œI think...you’re always champing at the bit.”
    In spite of everything, Adam laughed. The sound of pleasure put a tilt to Maureen’s lips, and as he looked at her, he realized this was what he’d missed with her this past week. This personal connection was what he needed most.
    â€œIt’s nice to hear you speaking your mind again.”
    She studied him over the rim of her glass. This evening, he was wearing an old battered Stetson. The brim was rolled up on the sides and dipped low in the front. Instead of a band, the crown was circled with sweat stains. Maureen decided the reckless character of the gray hat suited him well.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘again’? I always speak my mind.”
    â€œNot with me.”
    She studied him guardedly. “I tell you exactly what I think.”
    â€œYes. About work.”
    She needed air, but her lungs unexpectedly refused to work. “Is there anything else...but work?”
    He leaned over and placed his glass on a nearby counter, then took a few steps closer to her. Maureen forced herself to breathe deeply and keep her feet rooted to the floor.
    â€œLook, Maureen, I know...” He shook his head, then folded his arms across his chest
    At that moment, Maureen caught a glimpse of his forearm, and it suddenly didn’t matter what he’d been about to say. She gasped audibly. “Adam! What have you done to yourself?” Before he could answer, she rushed forward and took hold of his arm.
    Her closeness, the touch of her soft hands, was
worth the searing pain of the rope burn, he decided. Then cursed himself for being such a fool.
    â€œIt’s nothing, Maureen. A yearling got a little rowdy, that’s all.”
    â€œNothing! This is plowed flesh. And...” She stopped speaking as she bent her head over his arm for a closer inspection of the wound. “It looks like it’s full of dirt and hair.”
    Above her head, Adam smiled. After a week of cool indifference, her show of concern was like a soothing balm. “Horsehair and a little dirt aren’t going to kill