Something Wild by Patti Berg

the breeze, reaching out for him, the silky brown tendrils wrapping about his chest, pulling him willingly into her embrace. Tighter, tighter, her exotic, intoxicating perfume wafting through his senses until he saw nothing and felt nothing but the mesmerizing showgirl.
    The knocking at the door ripped him from his dream and the chair skittered out from under him when he jumped to his feet.
    Blast
! He wasn’t ready to let the image of Charity go. It was foolish to want her, but what man in his right mind wouldn’t?
    He stormed across the living room, prepared to give the ranch hand who’d interrupted his daydream a piece of his mind, but when he threw open the door it wasn’t Benny or Hank or even Woody or Bill who stood on the porch.
    It was Charity Wilde, her skin an even creamier white than what he’d seen in his daydream, her once black hair a brilliant brown, her cheeks and the tip of her nose chilled a pretty pink. She was fully clothed, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine the charms hidden beneath the heavy layers.
    He wasn’t a man of many words, but right now he was speechless.
    Charity was stunned when the door jerked open. Since when did a minister walk around in an unbuttoned blue chambray shirt hanging loose from his jeans, with his chest so explicitly visible? And Mike’s chest wasn’t just any chest. It was rippled with muscle—hard, hard muscle—and his skin, what she could see beneath the mat of black curly hair, was a glorious slightly faded-by-winter bronze, the kind many of the male dancers she knew obtained from a bottle. His feet were bare, and she found herself wanting to touch them the same way he’d touched hers last night, massaging them slowly, methodically, sensually.
    A wanton, lust-filled lump stuck in her throat as she focused on his face. She stood on the porch in the cold and looked at the heavy black stubble on his chiseled jaw, the stunning emerald green eyes that now had deep shadows beneath them, and hair as dark as a starry night, blue-black and shiny. Not surprisingly, a heavy lock fell over his brow. He raked his fingers through it, but it fell right back, disorderly, unruly, and absolutely beautiful.
    No man should be so gorgeous, especially to a woman who didn’t want to mess up her life by getting involved with a guy.
    It had been a big mistake to come here.
    She drew in a deep breath and exhaled, a puff of fog forming between them, which thankfully clouded his good looks.
    “Mornin‘,” he said, in his deep, velvety voice. The mist cleared, and she couldn’t miss his gaze as it meandered down her body to her heavy battered-leather boots, then wandered back to her face, all in half an instant. “How’s the ankle?”
    She’d forgotten there’d been any pain in her ankle. Nearly forgotten her name. “Better,” she choked out. “Thank you.”
    He looked past her to the snow-dusted yard, probably trying to figure out how she got to his place. His eyes settled on Jezebel, then riveted on Charity again. “Crosby doesn’t let just anyone ride his horse. What did you do, put some kind of magic spell on him?”
    “I smiled.” She tucked her gloved but freezing hands under her arms for a little more warmth. “If I smiled at you, would you let me in?”
    A slow grin touched his face, and he stepped aside, holding the door wide. “Sorry. I’m not used to company this early. You took me by surprise.”
    She was glad she had. If he’d known she was coming, he might have dressed for the occasion, and she really did like looking at his body.
    He closed the door behind them. “Would you like some coffee?”
    “No thanks.”
    They stood stock-still, awkwardly watching each other like young kids at their first dance, neither knowing what to say or do.
    “Tea?” He sounded like a flight attendant.
    He looked like a god.
    “No thanks.”
    He leaned against the door and his shirt parted a wee bit more.
Good heavens
! She had to turn away to stay sane, but even