Mr. Predictable: Mr. Predictable / Too Many Cooks. Carol Finch

him. Fascinated, Moriah stared at him, watching his sensuous lips curve upward and his obsidian eyes sparkle with inner spirit. A warm, fuzzy sensation fluttered through her body when she realized she’d seen her first glimpse of the man trapped inside his rigid routine.

      “You should do that more often, Jake. Laugher definitely becomes you.”

      “Well, I haven’t had all that much to laugh about in a decade,” he admitted. “When I lost my parents things turned serious in a hurry.”

      Moriah halted her horse to stare at the scenic view of the river, hoping Jake would experience the same sense of peace and tranquility that flooded over her. Apparently, he did. She noticed his grasp on the reins slackened and his gaze wandered admiringly across the river that glittered like mercury in the sunlight.

      “I see you’ve managed to return the focus of the conversation back to me,” he said, sparing her a brief but perceptive glance.

      “Yes, well, as recreational director it’s my job to urge guests to relax. Discussing the reasons for stress in your life makes you aware that you need to change your routines and habits. Whatever works, whenever it works, is my motto.”

      “You’re shrewd, Mo,” he murmured. “This is kinda like a cattle drive from days gone by. Cowboys moseyed the livestock along the trail at such a leisurely pace the dumb creatures never realized they were being led to slaughter.”

      Moriah wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I appreciate that comparison.”

      “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure I wanted some wanna-be psychologist picking around in my brain and analyzing me six ways to Sunday, either. But hey, here I am, opening up to you when I had no intention of doing it.” He tossed her a quick grin. “That’s progress for you.”

      “Minimal progress,” she qualified. “You were about to tell me what your life was like when you assumed responsibility for your kid sisters.”

      “Was I?”

      “Yes, you were. If I can spill my guts to you, then the very least you can do is return the favor.”

      Jake nudged the sorrel in the flanks and clomped down the path. “I had two teenage sisters to raise, a fledgling business to run and a social butterfly of a fiancée who expected, and demanded, more attention than I could provide. She’s a blue-eyed blonde, by the way,” he called over his shoulder.

      “Ahh…” Moriah said insightfully. “That’s another reason why I kept getting vibes of resentment from you. You were transferring your frustration toward her to me.”

      “Yeah, I suppose,” he admitted. “But thankfully, you’re turning out to be nothing like her. Anyway, Shelly was jealous of my loyalty and devotion to my sisters. While I was trying to give my sisters special attention during a crucial time, Shelly found herself a sugar daddy who could provide the expensive gifts and fawning attention she thought she deserved, being the goddess she was and all.

      “I walked in on her and lover-boy at her apartment one night when I wasn’t expected. By the time Shelly got through twisting the incident around, she made it sound like it was all my fault she looked elsewhere for affection and attention. That’s when I figured out that I wasn’t too good at relationships that didn’t involve dependence from the party of the second part. The humiliating rejection stuck like a dart through the heart and deflated my male pride. Thankfully, I was smart enough not to make the mistake again. Besides, I had my sisters to raise and my business to run. I didn’t have time or the inclination for anything else.”

      So he understood what it was like to be jilted and to have people depending on him. They had more in common than she first thought. “And since that time it’s been you and your sisters against the world, until they married.”

      Jake nodded his raven-black head. “Pretty much. But at least Kim and Lisa turned out all right. My parents would be proud of them. My folks were devoted to each other and to us kids. It only seemed natural for me to follow the example of keeping the family united and strong.”

      “But then, you got yourself stuck in a monotonous rut,” she commented gently. “It was your loyal and devoted sisters who came to your rescue.”

      “They bound me over to you, the ungrateful little brats,” he muttered sourly. “Turncoats, is what they are. To think of all I’ve done for them!”

      “They obviously care deeply or they wouldn’t have made these arrangements,” Moriah assured him.

      “Yeah, so here I am, pussyfooting around at the resort, wondering if any work will get done at the shop during the next two weeks, pacing the floorboards with nothing to do but wait for you to show up and lecture me on the error of my robotlike ways.”

      “But you’re making headway,” she encouraged him. “Twenty minutes ago you had a stranglehold on the reins. Now you’re relaxed. That’s progress. All we have to do is get you to let it all hang loose.”

      “In this underwear? Are you kidding?”

      Moriah snickered. “See there? You can even joke around and laugh at yourself. Yesterday that was an impossibility. You were too uptight and angry to do anything except bite my head off. Our next hurdle is to get you to do something impulsive, something totally unplanned, unexpected and off schedule.”

      “Hey, I can be impulsive if I feel like it,” he said, affronted.

      “Couldn’t prove it by me, Mr. Predictable,” she teased him. “When was the last time you hauled off and did something totally out of character?”

      He frowned pensively.

      “Well?” she prompted.

      “Don’t rush me. I’m thinking.”

      “That’s your problem. You do too much thinking and planning and moving along according to routine,” she told him.

      He swiveled his head around to focus directly on her. “You want impulsive, do you?”

      “Yeah, I do. Climb out of your rut for once in your life, Jake,” she encouraged him. “It’s okay to make time for yourself. Just go for it. Kick up your heels once in a while. Do something different. Do something impetuous, if only to prove to yourself that you can.”

      “Fine. You want extemporaneous and impromptu? You’ve got it.”

      He leaned over to snatch Moriah off the saddle and planted her on his lap—facing him, her legs straddling his hips. He bent his head and kissed her. It wasn’t just a playful little peck on the cheek, either. It was a hot, steamy, burn-off-your-lips kind of kiss that demanded a response—whether you meant to give one or not.

      Moriah hadn’t planned on wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him. She hadn’t meant to let him invade her mouth with a second plundering kiss that stole the breath clean out of her lungs. She didn’t expect him to clamp his hands around her rump and haul her against the hard evidence of his arousal. She didn’t expect to feel the blaze of desire frying her alive. But there they were, climbing all over each other on top of Ol’ Sally who didn’t so much as twitch her ears in objection.

      The mare stood there docilely while Jake and Moriah got it on like a couple of hormone-plagued teenagers going at it in the back seat of a car. It was the damnedest thing Jake had ever experienced in his life. One minute Moriah was daring him to be impulsive, and poof! He dragged her to him and kissed her like a starving man devouring a feast. And worse, Jake couldn’t seem to get enough of the taste and scent of her. Every time he came up for air he found himself craving more. He stared at her kiss-swollen lips—and she stared at his—and they came together again like fire and dynamite.

      That long dry spell must’ve caught up with him, because he was so hot and bothered in the time it took to blink that he felt the insane urge to peel off his clothes and follow this wild impulse to its natural conclusion.

      The feel of her full breasts mashed against his chest, the feel of her parted thighs resting on his own drove