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estate had beautiful grounds, and when her employer was busy with other things, she liked to wander
around them and sigh over the vegetation. It was a shock when Worth came looking for her one
Monday, a day he usually spent at his office.
He’d kept his distance from her since that unexpectedly ardent exchange at the supper table. But
he’d been watchful, and in another man she might have mistaken it for interest. She didn’t make that
mistake with him. Jeanette had told her too much about his past. She’d daydreamed a little, but very
quickly she learned that he could turn his emotions on and off, teasing her one minute and bellowing
about mistakes the next. She coped with his shifting moods by not letting herself get too involved, by
keeping her emotions at a safe distance. And it worked. He became more friend than employer, and
she found him unusually easy to talk to, just as she had that first day.
“Does Mrs. Carson want me?” Amelia asked with a smile. She was wearing white slacks with a
pink tank top, her hair loose and swinging freely around her shoulders, sandals on her small feet. She
laughed as he joined her, and he watched her face for a minute before he replied.
“No,” he said lazily. He fell into step beside her. He was wearing gray slacks and a white shirt,
rolled up to the elbows and carelessly unbuttoned.
“Something bothering you, boss?” she teased gently.
He glanced down at her with a smile. “No.”
“You’re home early or going to work late, then,” she remarked. She had a strand of grass in her
hand, and she nibbled it as they walked back toward the house. It was a beautiful day. Flowers and
shrubs bloomed all around the cobblestone path and birds sounded in the tall trees.
“I have something for you,” he said.
She stopped walking and stared at him. “For me?”
“Sort of,” he murmured dryly. “Come on.”
He led her to the side of the house and presented her with a ten-foot square of neatly plowed and
raked ground.
Her breath caught. She looked up at him with huge eyes. “For me?” she exclaimed, and her smile
was like the sun coming out.
He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “For you. Plant whatever you like.”
“Oh, Worth!” Impulsively, without thinking, she barreled into his arms and hugged him fiercely.
“Thank you!”
His big hands held her shoulders, held her there, and his head bent over her. “You’re more than
welcome. It’s little enough thanks for the good you’ve done around here. Grandmother worships you,
did you know?”
“It’s mutual. I think she’s the berries.” Amelia sighed. Her eyes closed as she pillowed her
cheek against his broad chest. It felt so natural to be held by him, to stand in the shade of the trees and
be together. Under her ear, she could hear his heartbeat. At her temples, his breath felt ragged,
disturbed.
“Amy,” he whispered.
There was a note in his voice that meant trouble. And she wasn’t ready to deal with it, not yet.
She tugged away from him, smiling to soften the rejection, and folded her arms across her aching
breasts. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
“Now, what shall I plant?” she reasoned aloud, oblivious to the strain that colored her unusually
high-pitched tone.
He came up behind her, slid his hands around her waist and drew her back so that her body
rested on his. “The yardman’s name is Harry. He’ll get you whatever you like.”
“No, really, that isn’t necessary, I can buy what I want.”
“I said, he’ll get it.”
“Tyrant.”
His hands slid up, so that they rested just under her breasts, and her heartbeat jumped. He felt it
and laughed, deep in his throat. “It’s broad daylight,” he reminded her. “I wouldn’t do it in public, if
that reassures you.”
She knew exactly what he meant, and had to bite her lip to keep from saying something rude. He
liked to tease, she knew that by now. He didn’t even mean anything by it. She was young and not too
unattractive and handy, and he was very much a man. She just had to keep that in mind and everything
would be fine.
And it was, until he bent his head and kissed the side of her neck.
She caught her breath and moaned, and everything changed. Very slowly, he turned her, holding
her in front of him. He stared down into her eyes so intently and for so long that her heart went wild
and she felt as if she were being electrocuted. She jerked her head down against his chest, breathless.
“I’ve tried,” he whispered. “Oh, God, I have.”
His hands tightened on her waist. Then, all at once, he bent and lifted her.
She clutched at his shoulders as he turned and carried her into the greenhouse several yards
away. It was deserted. The yardman usually took Monday mornings off, and Mrs. Carson was taking
her noon nap.
He set her gently down. His big, warm hands framed her face and he searched her eyes. He was
breathing heavily, and she could hear his heartbeat.
“I saw a painting of a fairy once,” he whispered. “She had long black hair and blue eyes and a
slender, beautiful body like yours. And every time I look at you, I want to see you without your
clothes, Amy. I want to take you into my bed and show you what it’s all about. And that,” he said
gruffly, bending, “is why I’ve tried so damned hard not to do this….”
His mouth melted into hers, soft and then hard, teasing, then rough and hungry. She went on tiptoe
to link her arms around his neck. Her mouth answered the wildness of his. And she wasn’t even
shocked when his hands slid down to her thighs and lifted her hard against his, so that she could
experience the very tangible evidence of his need.
He lifted his mouth to look at her. “You aren’t fighting,” he whispered.
“No, I’m not,” she whispered back, and she smiled lazily, dreamily.
His hands slid up to the base of her spine and moved her gently against him. “Not shocked?” he
whispered.
“No.” Her fascinated hands unbuttoned his shirt slowly and then eased under the fabric to touch
thick hair over bare, warm skin. Against her body, his rippled and surged.
“I’m sorry,” she said, stilling her hands.
He breathed slowly, as if he were fighting to retain control. His hands cupped hers, caressing
them. “It’s all right,” he said. His mouth touched her forehead, as lightly as a breeze. They were
standing close, touching, and she made no move away from him. He smiled against her eyebrow. “I
can’t remember the last time I was this aroused.”
She lifted her chin so that she could see his eyes. They were very dark, almost black. “Does it
hurt you?” she asked softly.
“A little. No, don’t move away,” he protested when she started to shift her feet. “Just stand still,
and everything will be fine, eventually,” he added with black humor.
Her fingers reached up to the dimple in his chin. Since he didn’t seem to mind that, they
wandered farther afield. She explored his wide, sexy mouth, his big, straight nose, his broad forehead
and thick eyebrows, to the ridge of his jutting brow, over his closed eyelids to thick short lashes.
“I like your face,” she said. “It’s very strong, very definite.”
“Not handsome,” he murmured.
“No. But sexy,” she whispered, smiling.
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