My Secret Fantasies. Joanne Rock

my mind. After Scotty recognized me from Gutsy Girl yesterday, I remembered how much I needed to try life as a brunette.” She settled on a worn wooden stool in one corner of the stall. “I took over for Bekkah a few minutes ago so she could grab some breakfast, by the way.”

      He’d almost managed to forget that Miranda was an actress, until she’d brought up that show again.

      He nodded, knowing he ought to be grateful for the reminder to keep his hands off her. He wasn’t. “Bekkah sent me a few updates last night. Sounds like the foal has been nursing regularly.”

      “He looks really healthy, doesn’t he?” Miranda settled her palm on the foal’s flank, both animals calm and accepting of her presence.

      It was beneficial to accustom the horses to handlers early in life, one of many reasons Damien liked having an attendant around the new foals. Better to think about that instead of the subtle curve of Miranda’s hip.

      “Thanks for checking on them.” He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. So different from every other Hollywood type he’d ever known.

      He’d had a lot of experience with wannabe starlets, and most of them had been high maintenance. Cautious of their appearance at all times. His mom, in fact, had met his father back when she’d been acting. Motherhood had turned out to be a bit too hands-on for her.

      “No problem.” Miranda rubbed her fingers together, and when he saw a hint of her breath, Damien realized she must be cold.

      “There are heavier jackets in the tack room, where you found the boots.” He pointed to the big rubber footwear she’d helped herself to this morning. He’d insisted she wear them last night, since she couldn’t go into the barns in flip-flops.

      “Maybe in a minute.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “I was actually trying to send a hint about the coffee.”

      She pointed toward his insulated mug.

      He had the feeling she would have taken his and chugged straight from his cup.

      “There’s a fresh pot up at the house.” Picturing her in his kitchen proved almost as potent as envisioning her in his bed. But when she didn’t move to take him up on the offer, he extended his mug. “Or you can have—”

      “Ohmigod. Thank you.” She accepted the stainless-steel mug with both hands and drew it to her face so she could inhale the steam. “I’ve been awake most of the night, and when I smelled this, I was seized with this major caffeine craving.”

      Intrigued by her in spite of himself, Damien leaned against the stall wall while Tallulah’s Nine nursed her foal. He noticed Miranda didn’t wear nail polish, but her fingernails seemed to bear stickers of different flowers. A daisy on one thumb. A daffodil on the other. Some purple blooms on the pointer fingers. It was easy to see them, with her hands clutching the coffee cup. She treated drinking like a ritual, all her attention devoted to the task until she’d taken three long sips.