No More Mr. Nice

chapter 9


Jess had never ridden a horse before becoming Mr. Roxbury’s assistant. Every year at the retreat, she endured the agony of bouncing around in the saddle, getting bruised and battered pretending to be a cowgirl. And, though she was getting better, she was still no Dale Evans. “Whoa, Snowflake,” she challenged, irritated that the horse had a mind of its own, and no matter how she tugged on the reins, she kept getting separated from the rest of the group.

Luckily, both Bertha and Bernie were excellent riders. And strangely enough, Lucas had turned out to be more than a glowering burden today. He rode well, maneuvered his horse like a man who’d done it before and done it well. He’d said he hadn’t ridden in a long time, but he hadn’t said he’d been extremely good at it.

She’d been too busy trying to keep from being scraped off her saddle under one low branch after another, or struggling to help one of the kids who were experiencing similar problems, to have any conversation with Lucas. But he was there, sitting on that horse as tall and broad-shouldered as John Wayne had ever been, chasing after straying horses and guiding them back into line. Except for her, of course. She was on her own, as far as he was concerned.

She supposed it was for the best. After all, she’d told him to leave her alone, and she wanted him to leave her alone. But right now, as Snowflake doggedly plowed under another low-hanging branch, she cursed the fact that she’d insisted she didn’t want his gallantry.

“Snowflake, darn you,” she groused under her breath. “I thought you were supposed to be docile. Don’t you know what docile means? It means you aren’t supposed to try to kill me every five minutes!”

Looking up, she realized she was once again separated from the others. Unfortunately, they’d entered the deepest part of the woods, and the trees were as thick as quills on a porcupine. She glanced around and sighed. “Thanks, you bag of ornery bones. Do you see any of the other horses?”

She could hear the kids laughing and shouting. But from what direction? Frowning, she tried to determine where the sounds were coming from. It seemed like they were off to her right. She kneed her untrusty steed, and shook the reins. Snowflake angled left. “No—no!” Jess complained. “Are you doing this on purpose? Go right! Right!”

Snowflake whinnied, arched her neck saucily and lurched to the left, lurching directly under a branch so low that Jess couldn’t crouch down enough to escape. In desperation, she slid from the saddle and landed in a heap on the ground, her foot still tangled in a stirrup. Groaning, she yanked it free. “Fine. My backside’s already hamburger, and now you hurl me down on the part of my anatomy that’s sorest, you—you escapee from a dog food factory!”

Snowflake who had smelled water, snorted and plodded toward the stream close by, to get a drink.

Jess gave the departing mare a murderous scowl and rubbed her painful hip. As she stood up stiffly, she thought she saw a glint of something white. She squinted and peered more closely. It looked like a white wooden wall with a green shutter. A cottage in the middle of nowhere? “Hmm,” she mused. “Hansel and Gretel’s place? Or, with my luck, it’ll belong to the wicked witch.” She started after Snowflake, who was drinking noisily in the nearby stream, but remembered that she and the horse weren’t on speaking terms. She left Snowflake, her nose down in the swirling water, and wandered off alone.

The little cottage wasn’t far away through the trees. It was surrounded by a white picket fence; the gate was locked. Inside the neatly trimmed yard, an ancient oak tree mushroomed high above the wood-shingled rooftop, and an old-fashioned tire swing hung from one of its sturdy lower branches.

There were big old azalea bushes on either side of the small, covered porch that held a weathered rocker. Gingham curtains hung prettily in the windows. Jess could imagine the windows open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. The little white cottage nestled picture perfect in the forest seemed untouched and pure. Jess had the feeling that she’d stepped back in time into someone’s gentle childhood. Who in the world lived here so simply and charmingly?

The fence was only waist-high, so she managed to climb over it without much trouble. First, she knocked at the door, but when there was no answer, her curiosity got the better of her, and she went around the side to peek in a window.

“Why, it’s lovely,” she murmured aloud. The cottage had only one room with a rough-hewn wooden floor, which was scattered with colorful rag rugs. A smoke-darkened stone hearth divided the far wall in half. On the far right was a wood-frame bed covered with an old hand-stitched quilt. On the left side of the room, rustic kitchen counter and shelves lined the wall. There was nothing on the counters—no sign of a sugar bowl or a bread box, no signs of recent occupancy.

Between the kitchen and bedroom areas, near the hearth, was a couch covered by a blue-and-white-striped horse blanket. Opposite it sat a couple of easy chairs that had seen better days. Separating the chairs from the couch was a round pine coffee table, and on it, a china teapot on a tray. Though the place was as clean as a pin and free of dust, it had a sorrowful, unlived-in look about it.

Jess scanned the hearth more closely. There were no ashes, and no firewood was stacked, ready to light. Several partially burned candles were grouped at one end. On the opposite end of the stone mantel sat several framed pictures. Jess strained to see, but couldn’t quite make them out.

“They arrest people for what you’re doing,” came a stern voice. Jess jumped and turned to face a very tall, very grim-faced Lucas Brand. He was sitting astride his black stallion, just beyond the fence. “You scared the hell out of me when I found your horse back there—riderless. I thought you’d been thrown.”

She grimaced. “I was thrown—Well,” she amended sheepishly, “maybe it was more…scraped off, like the burned part on toast.” She rubbed her hip again. “That darned brute hates me.”

Lucas’s expression eased slightly. “Want a lift?” He held out his hand.



Eyeing him dubiously, she said with a weary sigh, “I don’t know. I’ve fallen off enough horses for one day, I think.”

He dismounted and stepped easily across the white picket barrier. “Come on. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

She was reluctant. The specter of failure loomed again, and her stomach pitched despondently. “Maybe I’d better just go get Snowflake and glue myself in the saddle.”

“Have you always been such a rotten horsewoman?” he asked, lounging against the fence.

She hugged herself, rubbing her arms partly in nervousness, partly because the late afternoon was bringing with it a chill that was seeping through her bulky wool sweater. “I guess it depends on the horse,” she murmured self-consciously. “This one isn’t a very good sport.”

“I don’t blame her. Poor girl.”

“Poor girl!” she scoffed. “More like wild-eyed assassin! She knocked me off on purpose!”

“She picked up a rock somewhere. Didn’t you notice her limping? Probably seemed cantankerous because your weight was causing her pain.” He coaxed with a small nod. “Come on. You can apologize to Snowflake while we take her back to the stable.”

Jess wasn’t happy about this plan. But she supposed she’d better ride. She had no idea which way Lucas’s house was, and the sun was setting rapidly. Stifling a sigh, she said, “Okay, but don’t expect me and that horse to kiss and make up.”

They went back over the fence at the same time, Lucas making quicker work of it, with his much longer legs.



“Would it offend you if I helped you up?” he asked.

She turned to stare at him, feeling awkward. “I can get up by myself,” she muttered.

He nodded his assent, but there was skepticism in his expression that told her very plainly, I won’t interfere with your Don’t-do-anything-for-me-or-it’ll-prove-I’m-a-failure requirement, but I think it’s nuts.

Jess lifted a foot into his stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn, and swung a leg up and over. Once settled, she eyed him with proud hauteur.

Their glances clashed and held. After a moment, he said, “Too bad nobody but me was here to see that mounting triumph.”

She was taken aback by his sardonic remark, and even more stunned when he joined her in the saddle and his body surrounded hers in a most intimate way. She grew flustered. “There’s not much room—is—is there…?”

With his hands about her waist, he shifted her onto his thighs. “Better?”

She was grateful he couldn’t see her face, which had gone cranberry red, she was sure. Clearing her throat, she rasped, “It’s—I’m fine ”

Taking the reins, he began to guide them back to where Snowflake and her bruised foot waited. Jess turned to look at the cabin once more as they rode away. Aloud, she wondered, “Who lives there, Lucas?”

He said nothing, just held her butted up against him, clenched between arms that expertly held the stallion’s reins. His scent invaded without warning in the chilly, early-evening air, filling her with an unruly desire to lean against his hard strength. Even more strongly, she felt a need to turn her head and meet his lips, which were bare inches from hers. Knowing no good could come of such a crazy act, she held herself stiffly away, resisting with every fiber of her being.

It took her a full minute of worrying about her rapid heartbeat, wondering if he could feel it—or even worse, hear it—to realize he’d never answered her question. “Lucas,” she began again in a whispery tone. “That house is on your property, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, without further explanation.

“Well?” she prompted. “Who lives there?”

“That’s none of your business, Jess,” he warned softly. “Drop it.”

She was confused and irritated, not so much by his refusal to answer her, though that made her curious to know more, but because his breath was warm against her cheek. And his sturdy chest, bumping her every so often, was so inviting. His scent, which she was breathing now with every intake of air, was like an aphrodisiac. She recalled his kiss again in all its startling perfection, and closed her eyes, thrilling at the memory. Her mind began to float away in a sepia haze filled with sexy scents and passionate kisses, and she found herself losing the fight to resist.

No longer concerned that she was a weak fool, she gave in to her need, and tilted back against him, a tiny, still-functioning part of her brain praying she wouldn’t regret this lapse. But something else in her, an unexpected urgency, drove her as she relived, in her mind, how utterly sinfully the man kissed.

He was so disturbing, she shivered, dreaded, yet yearned to share something—everything—with this man….



As soon as she relaxed against him, she sensed a reticence in the sudden tensing of his body. But seconds later he shifted forward, his tongue caressing her ear. “What’s happening here?” he murmured.

She turned into his amorous overture and groaned, “Nothing…”

“Good,” he whispered, dipping his tongue provocatively, sending tingles of delight through her body. “Because we shouldn’t get involved.”

“I know.” She shifted closer, wanting to taste his lips again, driven by her willful craving. “I—know. We shouldn’t…”

He leaned forward, gathered her in his arms and held her snugly as he reclaimed her lips with a force that was blinding and beautiful. She moaned at the contact, struck again by the power of his kiss. It took away her will, making her his to do with as he pleased.

She clutched at his thighs, then hugged his arms even more tightly to her, frustrated that he was at her back. She wanted to press herself to him, wrap her legs around his hips, know the feeling of his erection as he entered her, making her writhe with the fulfillment she instinctively knew he could give. If his kiss was this staggering, leaving her lips burning, what must his lovemaking be like? Never had she felt such an exhilarating reaction to any man’s kiss. Intuition told her that Lucas Brand was her perfect mate—at least sexually. And that message was hard to ignore as his lips, teeth and tongue both thrilled and tormented her in his dizzying exploration.

Needing to be closer to him, she slid a leg up, hooking it around the saddle horn, and instinctively leaned farther back into his arms. He responded by crushing her to him, his demanding mouth plundering hers, his tongue working magic. And Jess, her body humming with want, gave back everything with a savage intensity she had never experienced in herself. It was as though she’d awakened from a long night into the electrifying stimulation of a spring storm. She was alive, her senses quickening with sudden new appetites. She was a woman, and she found herself glorying in that fact for the first time in her life.

Lucas gritted out an oath and muttered against her lips, “I want you so badly I could take you right here in the woods. Is that what you want?”

She clung to him, her eyes tightly closed, as though that would keep out the consequences of right and wrong. She didn’t dare answer, for the sound of her voice might break the spell. She only wanted to stay here, to be held in his arms, know the bold heat of his mouth and his body forever. Without words, she slid one wayward hand down to caress the bulging juncture between his legs. She felt giddy and light-headed.

She sighed against his mouth. “Oh, Lucas—” She broke off, embarrassed to voice her longing, but her hand massaged, and learned the sort of information a woman shouldn’t know about a man she was better off not making love to. She knew he was ready for her, fully capable of satisfying her, right now. And from the fondling she’d recklessly initiated, she knew she would rather die than go away without experiencing the full extent of Lucas’s sexual prowess.

He groaned, and moved a big hand down between her legs to match her movements. She grew limp from the sensual excitement he caused. He held her tightly to him, and Jess could feel the quiver of his muscles through his sweater from the tension of supporting her weight, and of holding himself back. “Jess,” he whispered roughly, “do you want it in the woods, on your back in the leaves?” He paused, kissed her hard, taking her breath away as his fingers massaged, sending jolts of pleasure along her limbs. “I’m not sure it’s fair to you, but hell, we both know we’d be good together. It’s your call.”

She couldn’t believe it, but his stroking, even through her jeans, was rushing her toward climax—on the back of a horse in the woods. She clasped him to her, crying out in lusty little gasps, “Oh—oh—Lucas—don’t stop….” With trembling fingers, she stroked his denim-sheathed erection, delighting in the dangerous intimacy as she spiraled over the brink, quaking, whimpering softly in disbelief.

She just lay in his arms for a long, lovely minute. Weak and tingling with afterglow, she lifted her arms about him, burying her face in his chest. She relished the hammering of his heartbeat and the sexy heat from his body. She’d never met a man who was so hazardous to her moral standards, but ironically, she was far from upset by her lapse. She wanted to remain here—within his wildly exhilarating embrace—forever.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured after a long pause.

She snuggled closer and sighed helplessly. “That’s never happened before.”

“What?” He held her slightly from him. “You’ve never come with a man before?”

Her face grew fiery as she shook her head. “No—I mean, not with my—my clothes on.”



She could feel a small chuckle rumble through his chest. “Or on the back of a horse, I’d guess.”

She looked up into his face and smiled timorously. “Or on the back of a horse.”

He was watching her with a masculine hunger that unnerved her. Still, he said nothing, made no move to kiss her again. It was her decision to make. Did she want him to make love to her, or didn’t she? She saw the heated question in his eyes.

Yes! she wanted to cry out. Yes, Lucas! I long to know the feel of your hands on my body, the touch of your devastating lips tasting private, secret places…. She swallowed again, feeling herself dampen at the mere idea. But she knew her fantasy was far from wise. Lucas wasn’t the kind of man who could ever settle down and be content with a wife and children; he was too driven by power and success.

She’d been through all that with Porter, and she’d have to be the worst kind of fool to let it happen again. With one last look into those dark, questioning eyes, she reluctantly pushed away, uncurled her leg from around the saddle horn and turned her back on him. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you’ll think I’m the world’s worst tease, but you’re right. We shouldn’t get involved.” Reaching forward, she picked up the discarded reins and held them out to him.

He understood her cue, and kneed his horse forward. When they neared Snowflake, he captured the mare’s dangling reins and muttered huskily, “Come on girl. Let’s us cripples go back home.”

JESS LAY IN HER BED, staring up at the ceiling. She’d spent a long, hard evening, watching Lucas from under lowered lashes as he went about his Mr. Niceguy duties, making hamburger patties, helping set the table and, after dinner, mopping up the kitchen. It was fascinating seeing him do his part. She supposed he’d simply decided to get it done as quickly as possible. Then he could get up to his darned computer room to spend half the night working on his business problem.

Rolling over on her side, she wondered how he continued to function, being with the kids all day and working at his computer all night. She recalled his face this evening after dinner when he’d chanced to glance her way. His eyes had been shadowed with fatigue, but the look he’d aimed at her had been anything but weary. His scorching gaze had traveled up and down her, then clashed with hers for a long moment, flashing a sexual communiqué that made her melt with yearning. She’d been immobilized by the message there. It frustrated her almost to the point of screaming to know with such certainty that she and Lucas would be explosive in each other’s arms, but that they dared not risk the complication. Then, unexpectedly, he’d simply turned away, leaving her feeling utterly desolate.

Recalling his look now, she shivered. That look had been erotic, full of sexual promise, disturbing—even across the distance of the room. Their extreme physical awareness of each other had only intensified since this afternoon, and even now, in her lonely bed, she could feel it thrumming relentlessly through her veins and plaguing her mind, destroying her rest.

She checked the bedside clock. Three twenty-three. She’d been dwelling on this subject so long she was at her wit’s end. She had to get Lucas Brand out of her mind. He was definitely not a man she wanted. Too much like her father and her husband. Self-assured and aggressive, with little time or patience for a family. And Jess desperately wanted kids, and a man who would sit by a cozy fire, reading to his children, laughing with them, wanting to share their lives. She didn’t see Lucas Brand in that picture. But that didn’t keep her heart from craving him in her bed.

Almost mad with exhaustion and need, she bolted up, and with a defeated groan, slid her legs over the side. This was the most lunatic thing she’d ever done—or would ever do—but tonight, she planned to get this obsession with Lucas Brand finished, once and for all.

LUCAS RUBBED HIS EYES as the computer screen blurred before him. He checked his watch. Three-thirty. With an weary grimace, he kneaded his temples, then went back to work. Tried, anyway. His thoughts had been haunted by Jess all night. Her fragrance lingered in his nostrils, harassing him. Good God, he’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted her. He fisted his hands, wanting to rip out trees by the roots, or toss cars off cliffs. He needed to dispel this raging sexual energy she’d provoked in him, and then left so frustratingly unfulfilled.

He couldn’t blame her, but that didn’t keep him from wanting to yank houses from their foundations. He and Jess were obviously extremely compatible sexually. It was just too bad that their wants and needs—other than sex—were so incompatible.

“Welcome to horny-bastard hell, Brand,” he muttered bitterly to himself.

“Lucas?” came a distant, but familiar voice. He twisted around to see Jess standing inside his closed office door. He was surprised that she’d come in without his noticing.

She was wearing a knee-length terry robe and her feet were bare. He frowned in confusion.

“Lucas?” she repeated, moving closer. He detected the light scent of her perfume as she asked, “May I talk to you for a minute?”

He nodded, still perplexed. Maybe working day and night for weeks brought on hallucinations. He hoped he wasn’t that far gone, and tried to shake off the absurd idea.

Her expression was somber, and her eyes held that familiar, lurking nervousness. But there was more lurking there, an odd determination. He wondered what bee she might have in her bonnet now.

As she stood before him, she began to loosen the tie of her robe, keeping her eyes pinned on his. With a small shrug, she let the garment fall to the floor. Lucas’s heart stopped, but other parts of his body came to full, bursting life when he saw the slim loveliness of her body.

Before he could speak, she opened her hand, displaying two condom packets. “I—” she began, then faltered.

Amazed but delighted, he stood, taking her into his arms. “Are you sure about this?”

She molded herself to him, as though it had taken all her strength to get here, and she had none left. Leaning into him, she looked up into his eyes, her expression distraught. “I have to do this,” she whispered plaintively. “I’m sorry, but I have to get you out of my system.”



He frowned down at her. “And you think having sex with me will do that?”

She bit her lower lip, her eyes glistening. “I hope so, Lucas.”

He felt a surge of irritation, but couldn’t be angry with her as she clung to him, soft, willing and naked. With a wry half-grin, he grazed a kiss along her cheek, grousing, “One day that truthfulness of yours is going to kill me.”

“I—I’m sorry, but—” Her voice broke. “I can’t go on having useless fantasies about someone I don’t want in my life.”

He felt a rush of tenderness and regret so intense it was painful. “There’s a lot of that going around,” he said, knowing he’d lost too much sleep for the same damned reason.

“When you—do it, don’t try very hard,” she pleaded faintly. “I—I don’t want to like it. I just want it over ”

He could feel her tremble in his embrace. Holy hell. Jess Glen might be a failure in the eyes of her parents and her ex-husband, but to him, she was a woman with an iron-willed honesty that beat the devil out of anything he’d experienced in his life. Her impetuous candor was unique and touching in a world of oily smiles and white-collar bull.

He wanted to hold on to that for a while, wanted to make love to her like he’d never loved any other woman. Wanted her to touch him, hold him and smile at him with the same warmth he’d seen in her smiles at the kids.

The bottom line was, he couldn’t give her the emotional commitment she needed. He’d trained himself to dominate his emotions, avoid involvements. But getting to know Jess had become a unique and troubling experience.

Sure, he’d had women come to him, wanting a quick fling. But Jess’s plaintive request wasn’t the same thing at all. Little Miss Heart-On-Her-Sleeve didn’t want a night of fun. She needed a sexual-reality check that would restore her peace of mind. And if he was honest with himself, so did he. Everybody knew the fantasy was always sweeter than the reality. It was better to find out, get it over with, and move on. But, somehow, holding Jess like this dulled the harsh edge of his self-imposed isolation in a way no other woman ever had. It was an unsettling realization.

Where was his famous, cool-headed logic? Usually a naked woman in his arms was not a problem. He simply made love to her and forgot her. So why was he hesitating? Possibly because he had a nagging suspicion that if he took her up on her offer, there’d be an emotional price tag when it was over—one that might be very, very steep.

“Lucas?” she asked, searching his face. “What is it?”

He could see raw vulnerability in her eyes, and knew she feared he was going to reject her. And to her that would be a thoroughly humiliating failure to add to what must be, for her, a lifelong list. He muffled an obscenity in her sweet-smelling hair. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he was far from sure that having sex with her was the wisest route for either of them.

Against his better judgment, his fingers roamed downward, along the silky contours of her back, to cup a tempting hip. He groaned, going hot and rigid with desire. Abruptly, deciding not to think or analyze, he lifted her into his arms. “Dammit, Jess,” he whispered gruffly. “You never make anything easy.”

Wrapping her arms about his neck, she offered sadly, “I’m sorry—”

“Quit saying that!” he growled. Looking around the sparsely furnished room, he mused aloud, “There’s no comfortable place in here to make love.”

“That’s good,” she whispered, bleakly. “Uncomfortable is good.”

He bit off another curse. “If you want uncomfortable, how’s the floor?”

She nodded. “Probably as uncomfortable as any place.”

He shook his head at her and lowered her where they stood. “At least let me spread out this robe.”

She removed her arms from about him and watched as he opened her bathrobe on the polished wood floor. His mood grim, he glanced up at her. “Hell. Don’t look so much like you’re being burned at the stake.”

She lowered her gaze to her clenched hands. “Maybe you should start getting undressed.”

“Why don’t I just unzip my pants?” he suggested sarcastically. “That’d be more slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am. No real involvement.”

She swallowed visibly. “If you prefer.”

He glowered at her. “Well, I don’t prefer. I’m not going to treat you like a ten-dollar trick, no matter how quickly you want me out of your system. Is that clear?”

She blinked, and lifted her unhappy gaze, but said nothing.

He was torn. This was the craziest situation he’d ever been in. “Look,” he began more gently, leaning toward her and grazing her lips with a kiss. “You brought two condoms. If you want it over so fast, what was the second one for? Tossing a water balloon on the gardener’s head? He gets here in an hour.”

She flushed all the way to the pink tips of her breasts, and he felt a hot tightening in his gut at the sight. “Either we do this for real, or we don’t do it at all.” He hated saying those words. If she grabbed up her robe now, and left him kneeling on the floor, he doubted that he’d ever walk upright again. But some things couldn’t be compromised or rushed, and he had a strong conviction that making love to Jess Glen was likely to be one of them.

Her glance fluttered away for what seemed like an eternity, then returned, more direct and determined than ever. “I—I suppose, if those are your terms, I’ll have to agree.” She lifted her chin, the image of Joan of Arc on the brink of martyrdom.

Relieved that she was still there, he smiled ruefully. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’m probably lousy in bed. And on a hardwood floor, it’s practically a given.”

“I’m counting on it,” she mumbled. “Kiss me, Lucas.”

Experiencing a bizarre mix of frustration and elation, he lowered her gently onto her back.