As his breath warmed her face, she drew in the scent of wintergreen, and beneath that something masculine… brisk…like the chill winter rain falling outside. His mouth dipped lower still, until it hovered just above hers. “Will this give me an edge?” he taunted.

More like a demerit.

Refusing to let him know how much the near caress was affecting her, Ally smiled at him cynically and narrowed her gaze. “Go ahead and kiss me,” she challenged sweetly. “It won’t matter, either way.”

“Good to know,” Hank murmured, lowering his head all the more, until the only way to get any closer was to kiss her. “Because if I wanted to seduce you into selling the ranch to me,” he informed her softly and patiently, “I’d do this.” His lips brushed hers. Tentatively, then wantonly, as a thrill unlike anything Ally had ever felt swept through her.

“Not just once,” he promised, kissing her hotly, “but again and again and again.”

Hank kissed her with the steady determination of a marine, and the finesse of a cowboy who knew how to make happen anything he wanted. He was at once masculine and tender, persuasive and tempting. Seducing her in a way that left no room for denial. Ally caught her breath as her hands moved involuntarily to his shoulders and she tilted her head beneath his…

Hank hadn’t figured he’d be putting the moves on Ally Garrett, now or ever. It wasn’t that he wasn’t physically attracted to her-he was. But he knew the two of them were all wrong for each other. And always would be. Yet the coolly provoking way she stared into his eyes, combined with the way she was testing him, made him want to haul her into his arms, and challenge her right back. And damned if instead of getting angry and slapping him across the face-and putting an end to this ludicrousness-she was pressing her body against his and kissing him.

As if she meant it.

As if she hadn’t been kissed in a good long while.

As if she needed to feel close to someone again.

And wasn’t that the kicker? Hank thought, as his lingering kisses continued to knock her for a loop.

They shouldn’t be doing this, and yet he couldn’t seem to summon up the urge to put an end to it, either. Not without indulging for a few minutes more…


WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT a totally ill-advised makeout session with a self-serving cowboy could make her feel so good? Ally wondered as Hank wrapped arms around her. He gathered her so close she could feel the hard, hot muscles of his chest pressing against her breasts, and his heart slamming against his ribs.

He opened his mouth, exploring every inch of hers with his tongue, encouraging her to do the same to him.

Whoever would have thought she and the land-loving Hank McCabe would have anything in common? Especially when she intended to go right back to the city, as soon as her task was done…

When he finally came to his senses and released her, he looked as stunned by the passion that had flared up between them as she was.

Hank stepped abruptly. “Fortunately for you-” Hank’s jaw tightened with the implacableness she expected from a McCabe “-the only way I’m interested in securing this property is by triumphing over the other bidders, fair and square.”

Of course he was thinking about the ranch!

Mesquite Ridge was probably the only thing he’d been thinking about during the last five minutes.

Whereas she, Ally noted sadly, had foolishly romanticized Hank McCabe’s pass to the nth degree. Damn her foolish heart! “Well, that’s good, because ‘fair and square’ is the only way you’ll get it!” she retorted, relying on her inherent cynicism for self-preservation. Legs trembling, she swept up her dinner and her soft leather shoulder bag. She cast him one long, scathing glance before storming past him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some calls to make.”

And some incredibly hot, passionate kisses to forget.

Chapter Four

An hour and a half later, Hank was in the mudroom, checking on Duchess, when he heard Ally come back into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and closing followed.

Curious, he stood and ambled in to join her. Ally did not look as if things were going her way. “Need something?”

She rocked back on the heels of her red cowgirl boots. With her honey-blond hair in disarray, she looked prettier than ever. “Coffee. And I can’t even find the coffeemaker.”

Trying not to notice how nicely the crisp white shirt and gold tapestry vest cloaked the soft swell of her breasts, Hank admitted, “It bit the dust a while back.” Briefly, he let his gaze drop to the fancy belt encircling her slender waist, and the jeans molding her hips and long, luscious legs. Just that quickly, he wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her again.

Knowing that would be a very unwise idea, if he wanted to keep them out of bed, he pointed to the metal pot on the back of the stove instead. “I’ve been using that.”

Ally blinked in surprise. “You’re kidding.”

So she had forgotten how to rough it, Hank concluded. He quirked a brow. “It works fine.”

Clearly unconvinced, she sighed.

“I’ll make you some,” he offered.

Ally lifted her hands in quick protest. “No-I’ve got it.” She brushed past him in a drift of orange blossom perfume, and checked the freezer. “If I could only find the coffee.”

“It’s in the brown canister next to the stove.”

“Okay. Thanks.” All business now, Ally reached for the pot and peered inside. Frowning, because it still contained the remnants of the morning brew, she carried it to the sink, rinsed it thoroughly, then filled it with two pints of cold water. She swung back to him, a self-conscious blush pinkening her high, sculpted cheeks. “Where do I put the coffee?”

“In the bottom of the pot.”

Before he could explain further, a quietly grumbling Ally had opened the canister and dumped six tablespoons of ground coffee into the water. She snapped on the lid, put the pot back on the stove, then turned the burner to high.

Aware she still looked frustrated and upset, after a string of phone calls in the other room, Hank asked, “Any luck finding someone to paint the interior for you?”

Ally paced back and forth. “None whatsoever! And I called all ten names on the list. No one will take on a job this big so close to Christmas. In fact, almost all the crews are taking time off from now till after New Year’s.” She whirled. “Can you believe it?”

“Bummer.” He pinned her with a taunting gaze. “Or should I say bah, humbug?”

The corners of her lips slanted downward and she narrowed her green eyes. “You’re a laugh a minute, you know that, McCabe?”

Hank shrugged, glad to have her full attention once again. “I like to think so.”

Ally huffed dramatically. “So it’s on to plan B.”

Curious, he moved closer. “Which is?”

The fragrance of brewing “cowboy coffee” filled the kitchen.

“Stage the house to the best of my ability, without changing the way the walls look, and put a painting allowance into the contract, for anyone interested in purchasing the property.”

Hank eyed the faded chuck wagon wallpaper in the kitchen. It was as bad as the horse-and-hound motif in the rest of the downstairs. Luckily, the rooms upstairs had just been painted many, many moons ago. “You really think that will work?” he asked.

“I’ll make it work.” Ally flounced back to the stove. Noting that the dark liquid had come to a rolling boil, she grabbed an oven mitt and removed the pot from the flame.

“You may want to-”

Ally cut him off with a withering look and plucked a mug from the cupboard. Lips set stubbornly, she told him, “I think I know how to pour a cup of coffee.”

“I’m sure you do.” That wasn’t the point. But if she insisted on doing things her own way…

Ally filled the mug, then topped it off liberally with milk from the fridge. She lifted it to her mouth.

He watched her take a sip, pause, then walk back to the sink, where it took everything she had, he supposed, for her to swallow instead of spit.

Hank carried the pot to the sink and set it down on a folded towel. Now that she was listening, he said, “The secret to making it this way is to let it steep for a good four minutes or so after boiling.”

“Really,” Ally echoed dryly, dumping the contents of her mug down the drain.

He met her gaze. “Really.”

She set her cup down with a thud and pivoted toward him. “And how would you know that?”

“Experience.” Hank studied her right back. “I made campfire coffee over an open flame all the time when I was in the service. Not too many espresso makers where I was.”

“What did you do in the marines?” she asked curiously.

“Flew choppers involved in rescue missions.”

“That sounds…dangerous.”

And fulfilling in a way that countered the loss he had suffered…

But not wanting to talk about Jo-anne, or the years he’d struggled with residual grief and guilt over his fiancée’s death, he filled a cup with icy tap water and finished his tutorial. “Once the coffee has steeped, you add three or four tablespoons of cold water to the pot.”

Ally wrinked her nose in confusion and disbelief. “To cool it off?”

He shook his head as he demonstrated the technique. “This settles the grounds to the bottom. And voilà! Now it’s ready to drink.”

She sniffed and tossed her head. “I can’t imagine those two things make that much of a difference.”

On impulse, Hank reached out to tuck a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

Her eyes flashed. “You’re beginning to sound all Christmasy again,” she accused.

He lifted his shoulders affably. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

She was right-he wasn’t. He liked teasing her, liked seeing the color pour into her cheeks, and the fire of temper glimmer in her dark green eyes. He poured her a fresh mug, got the milk out again. “Give this a try.”