Cinderella's Big Sky Groom by Christine Rimmer Read Free Book Online

one little bite…?” He pressed the side of the fork down through the layers of chocolate shavings, snow-white icing, dark cake, and that impossible, silky whipped-truffle center. “I’m telling you, this tastes as good as it looks.” He held up the fork.
    She wrinkled her nose at him. “Do you ever quit?”
    â€œNever. It’s not in my nature.”
    She looked at the fork and the bite of cake balanced there. “If I taste it, will you leave me alone?”
    â€œUnless you beg me for more.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    It sounded to him like a challenge. An utterly erotic one.
    A challenge he had to keep telling himself he would not accept.
    â€œYes or no?” he dared in return.
    And she did it.
    She leaned forward. He gave her the cake, watching those soft lips open to take it in.
    Her eyes closed. “Umm.” Her mouth moved as she tasted it, savored the heady mix of rich flavors. She swallowed.
    â€œMore?”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    He held her eyes for a moment, that silken web of awareness spinning, dizzily now, all around them. And then he lowered the fork and took a bite for himself.
    Enjoy it, Garrison, he told himself. Imagine you can taste her, in the cream and the chocolate, on the silver prongs of this fork. It’s all you’re going to have of her. Because she’s not going to beg for more. And you’re not going to push her.
    You want only a single night.
    And she…
    She’s looking for a prince.
    Too soon, the cake was nothing but a few crumbs on a china plate. He signaled for the check and signed for it. The waiter brought her coat, started to hold it up for her.
    Jealous of every last touch, Ross rose from his chair. “Here.” The waiter handed it over.
    Lynn stood and he helped her into it, as he had once before, in that shop with all the women watching, taking longer this time than he needed to, because the scent of her, the reality of her, was right there—too close, and much too tempting. His knuckles brushed cashmere and burned.
    Silently he called himself a number of crude names.
    He was hard. Had been since the moment she took his fork into her mouth. Fully aroused, like some green kid who couldn’t keep it down even in public. At least his jacket covered the bulge.
    Once she had the coat on, he put his hand at the small of her back, under the pretense of guiding her toward the door. But she didn’t really need guiding. She knew damn well where the door was. He put his hand on her so that he could feel her, the softness, the womanflesh of her, under all the layers of clothing that protected her from him.
    The hostess murmured, “Have a nice evening, Mr. Garrison,” as they passed the reservation podium.
    He nodded. “Good night.”
    They were out the door, standing on the street in the darkness with the icy Montana wind blowing down from the mountains, before he remembered that he’d yet to bring up the matter of Jennifer McCallum.

Chapter Four
    S he turned to him, clutching her coat against the chilling fingers of the wind. “I wonder if you could drive me back to the school. I left my Blazer there.”
    â€œWait a minute.” He sounded every bit as offhand as he’d intended to. Not at all the way he felt, which was way too aroused. Too hungry—and not for filet mignon or truffle cake. For her.
    He wanted to reach for her, right there. To yank her body against his, shove his hands into her moon-silvered hair—and finally taste that mouth that had teased him so thoroughly with throaty laughter and clever words. That mouth, which had taken cake straight from his own fork.
    â€œBrr…” She hunched her shoulders down into her collar. “Wait for what?”
    â€œWe still haven’t talked about my client.”
    She started to speak, then saw the two cowboysambling toward them on the street. The men were dressed in regulation Whitehorn: worn jeans,