To Love A Stallion. Deborah Fletcher Mello

breaking the awkward moment. “John stepped in and took responsibility for us. Big brother here became our parent.”

      John clasped his hands together, looking from one brother to the other.

      “He did a fine job with all you boys,” Juanita interjected, her head bobbing up and down. “A fine job.”

      “Your folks would be very proud,” Edward said.

      Marah nodded, sensing the man’s discomfort talking about losing his parents and hearing the accolades for all he’d accomplished. She smiled sweetly as she focused all her attention on him. “I imagine it wasn’t easy for you,” she said softly. “When my mother died I don’t know if my sisters and I could have gotten through it without our father.”

      Marah turned to meet her dad’s stare, the man watching her intently. “I know how you must feel because our mother was everything to all of us,” she said, her eyes shifting to meet Juanita’s. “Everything.”

      As dinner came to a close, the group savoring the last bites of a New York cheesecake with a strawberry rum sauce, John tapped Marah against the back of her hand, his thick fingers sending a current of heat up the length of her arm.

      “Care to walk with me, Ms. Briscoe?”

      “Only if you drop the Ms. and call me Marah, John.”

      He nodded his head, and they excused themselves from the table. “So, now that we’re on a first name basis, what was it you wanted to ask me earlier?” he asked, guiding her out the room, his large hand pressed lightly against her elbow.

      “This evening wasn’t what I expected. You said the executive board would be discussing the purchase of our ranch. This doesn’t seem like your typical board meeting to me.”

      John chuckled as they maneuvered their way toward the rear of the large home and then down the length of a short corridor. As he turned the knob on the door at the end of the hallway and gestured for her to enter first. “Nothing that my brothers and I do is typical, Marah. And, we are all the executive board that we need.”

      Marah stopped short, turning abruptly. “Why are you taking advantage of my father?”

      John smiled, the motion brightening his face. “I wasn’t aware that I was. Your father has been very eager to negotiate the sale of that property.”

      “That ranch has been his whole life. Since my mother died that ranch is all he has.”

      “He has you and your sisters. That’s more important to him than that land is.”

      “You wouldn’t understand,” Marah said, exasperation tingeing her voice.

      “I think I understand your father better than you do. He’s ready to shake things up a little,” John said matter-of-factly. “He wants to make some changes in his life while he still can.”

      Marah crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing sharply. “What do you know about what my father wants?”

      “He and I have become good friends over the last year or so. We’ve spent a lot of time together talking.”

      A look of confusion washed over Marah’s expression. “How did you two meet?”

      “Aunt Juanita introduced us.”

      At the mention of that woman’s name Marah bristled, even more baffled by the relationship Juanita and her father appeared to share. The moment passed as she was suddenly distracted. She took in the space surrounding them, John stepping in behind her. The room was a Victorian conservatory, a light-drenched glass chamber that looked out over the landscape outside. The afternoon sun had disappeared, replaced by the brilliance of a full moon and a flood of flickering stars that lit up the dark sky. It was an intimate retreat surrounded by a wealth of vegetation and blooming flora. The glow of nightfall was enchanting and Marah found herself mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the moment. It also helped that they had polished off a bottle or two of bubbly at dinner and she’d been feeling warm and mellow in his company since they’d finished dessert.

      “It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she tilted her head skyward. She turned to stare at him, a coy expression painting her face. She leaned against the back of a wing chair, her arms resting on the edge, her gaze sweeping around the room. She was lean and elegant, temptation standing on two legs and every ounce of her body was beckoning him to her.

      “Yes, you are,” he answered, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, his gaze still locked on her as he fought the urge to move to her side. “You clean up nicely,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

      Marah cut her eyes in his direction. She suddenly couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her as intently as John Stallion was watching her now. She shook her head, disturbed that she was being swayed so wantonly when it was she who was supposed to be doing the swaying.

      “Thank you,” she muttered, turning an about face to stare out through the wealth of glass that separated them from the gardens outside.

      She could feel John step in closer to her, his gaze boring a hole straight into her soul. Marah felt warm, too connected to the moment, and she shook the sensation from her mind. She jumped as he drew a hand down her back, the pad of his index finger outlining the ink coloring her skin.

      “Did it hurt?” he asked, stepping in even closer to exam the design.

      “A little. Not much,” she said, trying to contain her breathing. She closed her eyes, sensations sweeping like fire through her body. All of his fingers were gently caressing the expanse of her back.

      “It’s absolutely exquisite,” John said, his own breathing coming in short, quick gasps. “What possessed you to do it?”

      Marah paused, relishing the warmth of his touch, the sensation distracting her from any coherent thoughts. “I…I…liked…” She was unable to form the words to explain the edge to her personality that allowed her to take risks and do things other people wouldn’t. She stepped away from his touch, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso.

      “Look,” she said, taking a deep breath and holding it for a quick minute. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, John, but I’m not interested,” she said, her tone everything but convincing.

      “Aren’t you?” he answered, that smug smile pulling at the line of his mouth.

      Marah was suddenly overcome with emotion she didn’t like. No, she didn’t like how she was feeling at all. “No, I’m not,” she said firmly, a bald-faced lie slipping past her lips. “All I want is to know what it will take for you to let go of this deal and leave my family alone?”

      “Is that all?’ John asked, taking a step toward her, the look he gave her overwhelming.

      Marah was consumed with emotion, her mind and body suddenly doing battle for control. The expression across the man’s face was edged with something that Marah could only describe as wicked. The man was playing her, she thought suddenly. John Stallion was trying to beat her at her own game. She nodded her head slowly. A slight smile blessed her face. If he wanted to play, then she would pull him into a game that would surely leave him wishing he’d found someone else to play with.

      “Maybe not,” Marah said, lifting her coquettish gaze to stare into his.

      There was a moment of quiet hesitation as both stood contemplating each other.

      “I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to kiss you,” Marah said softly, taking a step toward him.

      John stepped in to meet her, a torrent of heat flooding his senses when she pressed a perfectly manicured hand against his chest. A large hand fell to the curve of her waist as he snaked his arm around her body to pull her close. When her pelvis met his, John felt like he might explode right there. Marah gasped, her own body awed by the intensity of his touch.

      “What’s stopping you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper