Honey and the Hired Hand. Joan Johnston

He had his shirt off and she couldn’t help looking.

      Jesse had broad shoulders and a powerful chest, completely hairless except for a line of black down that ran from his navel into his formfitting jeans. His nipples provided a dark contrast to his skin, which looked warm to the touch. She could see the definition of his ribs above a washboard belly. His arms were ropy with muscle and already glistened with sweat. Here was a man who had done his share of hard work. Which made her wonder why he had never settled down.

      It dawned on her that the drifter had chosen the most dangerous job to do first. He was standing on the peaked barn roof without any kind of safety rope as though he were some kind of mountain goat. How could he be so idiotically unconscious of the danger!

      She started up the ladder he had laid against the side of the barn and heard him call, “No need for you to come up here.”

      She looked up and found him hanging facedown over the edge of the roof. “Be careful! You’ll fall.”

      “Not likely,” he said with a grin. “I grew up rambling around in high places.”

      “I suppose you had the top bunk in an upstairs bedroom,” she said with asperity.

      Jesse thought of the high canyon walls he had scaled as a youth on his family’s northwest Texas ranch and grinned. “Let’s just say I spent a lot of time climbing when I was a kid and leave it at that. By the way, I found the spot that needs to be patched. I brought the shingles up with me, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of the roofing nails.”

      “I put them away. I’ll get them for you.” Honey headed back down the ladder and into the barn. As she passed General’s stall, she patted the bull on the forehead. She and Cale had raised him from birth, and though he had a ring in his nose, he would have followed her around without it.

      “Hi, old fella. Just let me get these nails for Jesse and I’ll let you out in the corral for a while.”

      The barn was redolent with the odors of hay, leather and manure. Rather than hold her nose, Honey took a deep breath. There was nothing disagreeable to her about the smell of a ranch—or a hardworking man. Which made her think of the hired hand standing on the roof of her barn.

      Honey didn’t want to be charmed by Jesse Whitelaw, but there was no denying his charm. Maybe it was his crooked grin, or the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, creating a sunburst of webbed lines. Or maybe it was the fact his dark eyes glowed with appreciation when he looked at her.

      “Hey! Where are those nails?”

      Honey jumped at the yell from above. “I’m getting them!” She grabbed the box of nails and headed back into the sunshine. Jesse had come to the edge of the roof and bent down to take the nails as she climbed the ladder and handed them up.

      When he stood again, a trickle of sweat ran down the center of his chest. As Honey watched, it slid into his navel and back out again, down past the top button of his jeans. It was impossible to ignore the way the denim hugged his masculinity. It took a moment for Honey to realize he wasn’t moving away. And another moment to realize he was aware of the direction of her gaze. Honey felt a single curl of desire in her belly and a weak feeling in her knees. Her fingers gripped the ladder to keep from falling. She was appalled at the realization that what she wanted to do was reach out and touch him. She froze, unable to move farther up the ladder or back down.

      “Honey?”

      Jesse’s voice was gruff, and at the sound of it she raised her eyes to his face. His lids were lowered, his dark eyes inscrutable. She had no idea what he was thinking. His jaw was taut. So was his body. Honey was afraid to look down again, afraid of what she would find.

      She felt her nipples pucker, felt the rush of heat to her loins. Her lips parted as her breathing became shallow. Honey knew the signs, knew what they meant. And tried desperately to deny what she was feeling.

      “Honey?” he repeated in a raw voice.

      Jesse hadn’t moved, but if possible, his body had tautened. His nostrils flared. She saw the pulse throb at his temple. What did he want from her? What did he expect? He was a stranger. A drifter. A man who loved danger.

      She wasn’t going to get involved with him. Not this way. Not any way. Not now. Not ever.

      “No!” Honey felt as though she were escaping some invisible bond as she skittered down the ladder, nearly falling in her haste.

      “Honey!” he shouted after her. “Wait!”

      Honey hadn’t thought he could get off the roof so fast, but she had no intention of waiting around for him. She started for the house on the run. She was terrified, not of the drifter, but of her own feelings. If he touched her…

      Honey was fast, but Jesse was faster. He caught her just as she was starting up the front steps and followed her onto the shaded porch. When Jesse grabbed her arm to stop her, momentum slammed her body back around and into his. He tightened his arms around her to keep them both from falling.

      Honey would have protested, except she couldn’t catch her breath. It was a mistake to look up, because the sight of his eyes, dark with desire, made her gasp. Jesse captured her mouth with his. His hand thrust into the curls at her nape and held her head so she couldn’t escape his kiss.

      Honey wished she could have said she fought him. But she didn’t. Because from the instant his lips took possession of hers, she was lost. His mouth was hard at first, demanding, and only softened as she melted into his arms. By then he was biting at her lips, his tongue seeking entrance. He tasted like coffee, and something else, something distinctly male. His kiss thrilled her, and she wanted more.

      It was only when Honey felt herself pushing against Jesse that she realized he had spread his legs and pulled her into the cradle of his thighs. She could feel his arousal, the hard bulge that had caught her unsuspecting attention so short a time ago. She heard a low, throaty groan and realized it had come from her.

      Jesse’s mouth mimicked the undulation of their bodies. Honey had never felt so alive. Her pulse thrummed, her body quickened. With excitement. With anticipation. It had been so long. She needed—craved—more. How could this stranger, this drifter, make her feel so much? Need so much?

      At first Honey couldn’t identify the shrill sound that interfered with her concentration.

      Pleasure. Desire. Need.

      The sound persisted, distracting her. Finally she realized it was the phone.

      Honey hadn’t been aware of her hands, but she discovered they were clutching handfuls of Jesse’s black hair. His hat had fallen to the porch behind him. She stiffened. Slowly, she slid her hands away.

      “The phone,” she gasped, pushing now at his shoulders.

      Honey felt Jesse’s reluctance to release her. Whether he recognized the panic in her eyes, or the presumption of what he had done, he finally let her go. But he didn’t step away. Honey had to do that herself.

      “The phone,” she repeated.

      “You’d better answer it.” It was clear he would rather she didn’t. His body radiated tension.

      Honey stood there another moment staring, her body alive with unmet needs, before she turned and raced inside the house. For a second she thought he would follow her, but from the corner of her eye she saw him whirl on his booted heel and head toward the barn.

      She was panting by the time she snatched the phone from its cradle. “H-hello?”

      “Honey? Why didn’t you answer? Is everything all right?”

      Dear Lord. It was Adam. Honey held her hand over the receiver and took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. There was nothing she could do about the pink spots on her cheeks except be grateful he wasn’t there to see them.

      At least there was one good thing that had come from the drifter’s kiss. Honey knew now, without a doubt, that she could never marry Adam Philips.