“How did the delivery go, honey?”
“‘Honey’? What’s with people today? That’s the second time I’ve been called ‘honey.’ I wasn’t his honey, and I’m not your honey.”
“People? Did something go wrong with the client?”
Jane snorted, quite unladylike, and agitatedly unzipped her snow jacket. “Right. As if you didn’t know.” The drive back to the city had been better than the drive to the mountains. The roads were not quite as slick with the sun out, and she’d had ample time to fume not only about Edward sending her on a long-ass delivery but a bogus one at that.
However, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that that wasn’t what had her so on edge. It was that thoughts of the cowboy wouldn’t go away. He was all tall, tanned skin, rugged hands, and sun-streaked, dark blond hair reminiscent of a surfer. She shook her head. Great, a cowboy surfer. Perfect. Neither of which would ever be interested in her.
She’d never wanted a man so much in her life as she had wanted him the moment he’d opened the door. His grin was cocky, and his eyes were dark and lustful. His skintight jeans had hugged his hips and hidden nothing, and his soft black sweater defined every muscle in his chest. His feet had been bare and while she’d never paid much attention to a man’s feet before, his not being covered by socks or sneakers or boots had been so homey, so casual that she’d found it incredibly sexy. The thought then and now gave her pause. Sexy feet?
She’d heard of men loving a woman’s painted toenails, but she’d never thought about a man’s feet before. God, is this how low she’d sunk? How long it had been for her without her having realized it that not only was she looking at his ass in a pair of jeans and his upper body in a sweater, but she was now thinking a man looked hot and sexy with bare feet?
She groaned and took off her snow jacket, then hung it up on the hook behind the door. She licked her lips, which brought to mind his kiss. His lips had been so soft and so rough at the same time when he’d had the audacity to briefly touch them to hers. His fingers on her face had made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and she didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
It meant that she was starting to feel again and soon she would start to want. In that moment though, she would ignore the fact that she already wanted him. A lot. In a very big way.
Besides, he was young. Way too young for her. No wrinkles creasingtouched his face, no gray at his temples. He had the smooth edges of a younger man, and she had no business fantasizing about him, wanting him. But damn oh damn oh damn…
“What’s wrong?”
She whirled toward Edward and planted her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong? You sent me out there with an empty box of truffles. You sent me way the hell out there to a gorgeous hunk of man with an empty box of truffles. Why, Edward? Why on earth would you do that to me?”
He didn’t even look chagrined. He didn’t look surprised that she’d figured it out. He didn’t even look at her with a hint of embarrassment at having been caught setting her up. He just gave her a straightforward look, and she knew she wasn’t going to like his answer.
“Do you want the truth, Jane? Do you really want the truth?”
“Of course I want the truth.” She did, didn’t she? Yes, yes, yes. Truth was a good thing. Right? Right.
“All right, then. I did it because I am tired of you sitting in that chair, staring out at nothing, watching all those awful reality shows. You’re eating truffles and junk food and, quite frankly, it’s depressing. I am tired of it. Phillip’s gone. He broke up with you and yet the world still goes round and round. Let it go. Move on with your young and wonderful life because he sure as hell moved on with his.”
Dammit. She didn’t like the truth. She’d have preferred he lie through his pearly whites. She didn’t like the truth because he was right. Phillip had dumped her and moved on with his life and his lovers. What was her problem? It wasn’t like Phillip was really worth pining over, not like, say, Cowboy Surfer would be. If ever there was a man worthy of moping and crying over, it was him, not some GQ cover model wannabe like Phillip who had the emotional depth of a shot glass and probably not even that deep.
