The Rancher's Untamed Heart by Nicole Jordan Page B

my bra, the feeling of his body only a few layers of fabric away almost more than I could take.
     
    The ache was growing between my legs to maddening levels, and I could feel myself grow wet and slick with desire for him.
     
    Finally, I remembered that, while it was fun to be swept along by passion in an apartment hallway, it wasn't polite, or appropriate.
     
    I pulled away from him, gasping. He let me go, but kept pulling me back, gently, to place fast soft kisses on my lips, my cheeks, my brow.
     
    Finally, we stood again, staring into each other's eyes. I was lost in those deep pools, and the desire and tenderness that I saw there warmed and frightened me in a way I could get used to.
     
    "Good night," I finally said.
     
    He chuckled.
     
    "Quite a good night kiss," he said.
     
    He jammed his hands in his pockets and stood for a minute, looking at me.
     
    "See you soon," he said, and turned on his heel. I watched him walk back to the end of the hallway and disappear into the stairwell.
     

 
     

     
    I turned back to open my own door and blushed as red as a beet.
     
    "Excuse me, Mr. Francesa, Mrs. Francesa," I said. "I'm sorry about, uh, that."
     
    Mrs. Francesa cackled, and I turned to face her, the opposite way from where Clint had gone.
     
    "What do you think we were doing fifty years ago?" she asked.
     
    "I thought you already had children fifty years ago," I retorted. I had met some of their children,
    and the oldest had to be at least fifty.
     
    "Yes, we were leaving them with my mother so we could neck in hallways," she said. "How do you think people end up with seven children?"
     
    I tried to think up a response, but Mr. Francesa took pity on me.
     
    "Stop tormenting her, Cheryl," he said. "Save it for our own grandbabies."
     
    "We have lots," she said happily. "Family trait, apparently, not being able to keep your damn hands to yourself."
     
    Mr. Francesa laughed at that.
     
    "Come on, my darling," he said to his wife, "Let's go inside and let her figure out that she's trying to unlock her house with her car key."
     
    I looked down and swore to myself. As the elderly couple disappeared into their own door, I finally managed to find the right key and let myself into the apartment.
     
    I shut the door and leaned against it, trying to cool my passion down. Even being teased by
    Cheryl Francesa wasn't enough, apparently, my nipples were still rock-hard and my body still ached for the touch of Clint's.
     
    There was nothing else for it. I went to my bedroom and opened the drawer in my bedside table, taking out a discreet purple silicone toy.
     
    Before I went to sleep that night, I finished myself off, coming to the thought of Clint's hands sliding over my breasts earlier. I wondered if, on his ranch, he was coming to thoughts of me.
     
    I hoped he was.

 
     
     

     
    Clint called me a little after dawn to let me know that he was finishing up the farm chores early, and could pick me up in two hours.
     
    I was out in the parking lot waiting for him, so we did not have a repeat of the passionate hallway kiss for Mr. and Mrs. Francesa to laugh over, but when I climbed into the truck and slid over to greet him, the quick kiss we shared and the feel of his side pressed against mine was enough to remind my body of the desire I felt for him.
     
    I slid back over to my own seat with some regret, and Clint smiled ruefully and leaned over, patting my leg.
     
    "I brought you coffee," he said. "I needed it this morning, I had trouble sleeping. Too many thoughts of you, and what you do to me."
     
    He lifted his own coffee to his lips as I cradled mine in my hands, enjoying the warmth of it against my fingers.
     
    "Just think of how difficult it would have been to sleep with me there," I murmured.
     
    "Oh, I did," he said firmly, putting the coffee back in a cupholder.
     
    "Repeatedly?" I asked, looking at him as innocently as possible.
     
    "You're going to kill me," he said, and reached out to