Читать книгу Taming The Tabloid Heiress - Michele Dunaway - Страница 11

The Tattler, Thursday, Nov. 21

Mary Lynn’s About the Town

Kit’ten Dogs Fiancé!

Only if you were there would you believe it! (See picture page one.) New York’s most notorious heiress, the antic-loving Kit O’Brien, did it again. This time she upended a bowl of dog food, dumping it over Blaine Rourke, her father’s favorite godson and, as speculated in this column last week, her fiancé. Sources close to the family inform me that her father, Michael O’Brien, C.E.O. of the Fortune 250 company O’Brien Publications, is absolutely furious! One has to wonder how Kit’s going to pacify her father this time. Will she finally give in to his demands and tie the knot? One thing’s for sure, with Kit you never know what antic she’ll pull next.

“So, have you ever made love on a plane?”

The words rolled silkily off his tongue, and Kit O’Brien’s green eyes widened at the audacity of the handsome male passenger who had been seated next to her for the past two hours.

“Are you propositioning me?” Although she blinked, Kit held her gaze steadfast to mask her inward shock. Despite her reputation, never before had a man been so bold, or so brash. Afternoon sunlight flickered through the first-class window as he gave her a wicked grin.

“And if I am?” His full lips curled teasingly, creating a slight dimple in his right cheek.

Kit felt shivers shoot through her body, all the way down her legs to her toes, which were cramped in what masqueraded as sensible flats. The brazen answer that teased provocatively from her mouth before she had any rational thought to stop it ignited the stuffy atmosphere. “I’d have to think about it.”

“You do that and let me know.” He closed his lips slowly over the edge of the plastic cup in a gesture bordering on erotic.

Ooh, he was smooth. She could lose herself in those glittering and glistening, dangerous brown eyes.

But that would be a mistake.

He turned his gaze away, releasing Kit from his hypnotic spell. Even though the possibility of caving in to his outrageous suggestion was gone, Kit felt little relief. Clamping her mouth shut, she reached forward to return her empty plastic cup to the foldout tray. Her hand shook and the cup wobbled before she righted it. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her body’s immediate physical response to his provocative words.

He was quite a piece of work, she thought. They had been talking on and off since leaving New York at 11 a.m., but right now since his attention was not on her, Kit tried to relax. Never before had she run across someone quite like him, someone who had sent her senses reeling with just one piercing look.

Whoever he was, he was temptation. A magazine lay across his lap, hiding legs clad in black jeans. A heated awareness prickled Kit’s skin, her equilibrium as disturbed now as when he had taken his seat two hours ago. Then she had gazed, transfixed, until he had pointed with a well-manicured finger at the empty seat next to her.

At that moment, although she had been acutely conscious of her flushed cheeks, she could not break her stare. He had looked down his pointed, perfect Roman nose, and given her the amused knowing smile of a man used to being the center of attention. And, when he stripped off his black sport coat Kit’s mouth dried to sandpaper and her throat tightened. The broadcloth button-down hinted at perfectly formed muscles. When he had moved past her to access the window seat his legs had brushed hers. Kit swore fireworks had ignited from the way her body tingled.

Kit shook from the reverie and attempted to focus. She had no time for erotic thoughts about a man she didn’t know. She had four days before facing her father and his reaction to her latest public stunt. As she attempted to tug her short knit skirt down to her knees, her seatmate shifted, his black Western boots coming briefly into view. She froze.

He was a cowboy, she decided, closing her eyes and letting herself fantasize about her seatmate. He certainly had a primitive, masculine look. Chestnut-colored hair cascaded over his collar to just above his shoulders, and Kit pictured tying his wavy tresses back with a rawhide lace.

No, she shook off that fantasy, replacing it with another. Instead she would take her fingers and tuck the strands gently up underneath a black Stetson. When she was finished with his hair, his rugged and virile hands would stroke her, yet his touch would be gentle despite being accustomed to holding fast the reins of unbroken stallions. She would trace a finger across the stubble of his jaw, and his fingers would slide lower, ready to caress her into absolute ecstasy.

Kit opened her eyes and lowered her lashes so she could venture another glance at his luminous brown eyes and heart-shaped face.

Did she really want to just slip up to the first-class lavatory with him? The illicit thought of his full lips catching hers and trailing kisses down her neck sent tremors racing down her spine. His hands would cup her buttocks, lifting her up to him, and his mouth would caress her breast. She would wind her fingers in those luscious long locks, and he would fill her body as if he were made just to please her. With knowing strokes he would take her to heights she had never imagined or experienced. Marry me, he would whisper huskily, his breath warm against her ear. Marry me….

Hold it! Mentally Kit wrenched herself from her Walter Mitty dream world and began to silently chastise herself. Except for his body’s effect on hers, she knew nothing about him, and even if she did, she didn’t do things like this! She was probably the oldest virgin in America, despite everyone’s belief to the contrary. And the last thing she needed would be any more public scandal.

The now-infamous dog food incident she was running away from was bad enough. Not only was her father furious at her previous night’s behavior, but she knew Blaine wasn’t too happy with her, either. And she was desperate to escape both of their wraths.

Hence her editor, Eleni’s, priceless expression earlier that morning. Anything had to be better than a confrontation with her father after another tabloid antic, and Kit had snatched the assignment Eleni had offered her, sight unseen and without a press packet. Who cared if she wouldn’t know until tomorrow even the name of the person she was to interview? The fact that the assignment was far away from home was all that mattered. She could wait until tomorrow morning for the press kit to arrive by overnight mail. Then she would just wing it.

And she’d flaunt her success when she got back. Much to her father’s chagrin she’d have interviewed whomever and written a dynamite exposé. Then her father would have to let Eleni assign Kit to more serious stories. She was tired of the marshmallow fluff her editor gave her. Wine, art and society stories had been great to cut her teeth on, but now they were boring.

Not only that, but Kit’s father, the publishing icon, refused to let her write under her own name. Even with respectable stories, she had to hide behind the pseudonym Carol Jones. How uninventive. No, it was time her father gave her a real chance. Kit squared her jaw. She would succeed.

For a moment she wondered what the unknown person she would be interviewing looked like. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry to catch her flight she might have found out. Oh, well. If it was a guy and he looked anything like the man seated next to her, well, the assignment would be a dream come true.

Succumbing to her nervous habit, she bit her bottom lip and stole another glance toward the window.

What was it about this man, anyway? Calvin Klein models couldn’t hold a candle to him. With a sigh Kit rubbed her left ear to relieve the pressure, but it didn’t help. Disturbed by the wicked thoughts still dancing in her head, she removed the last honey-roasted peanut from the foil pouch sitting on her tray and popped it into her mouth.

Anything to keep her mind off the way his firm fingers sensually rolled his laptop computer’s trackball as he played solitaire.

Kit settled back into the seat, her thoughts wistful. What would it be like to just once completely let go, to feel unbridled passion and get away without anyone recording her every move? Just slip up to the front lavatory with him….

Kit brushed aside the tempting but wicked thought.

Opening her eyes, she watched him move the ten of clubs before again studying his game.

“Move that eight. It plays on the nine of hearts,” Kit said as she pointed out a move he had missed for two draws. “Next, move that four. It plays on that five right there.”

He arched an eyebrow up expectantly at her. “Did you want a turn?”

“No.”

“Just checking. I did think this game was called solitaire for a reason. But if you change your mind and want to play I’m sure we could arrange something.” His dubious grin and innuendo should have infuriated her, but oddly it didn’t. Kit frowned as the airplane banked slightly and the Atlantic came into her view.

“There’s the ocean. We must be almost there.” She pointed directly in front of his nose. Patiently he turned to her and folded the screen down. A little chill ran down her spine. The chill avalanched at his next words.

“Pity.” Mirth laced his voice as the captain announced their impending approach to Miami. “It could have been so very interesting, ma chérie. Oui? But we now are no longer a mile high.”

Kit flushed at his French-Canadian accent. Did he use that delicious accent with the women he took to his bed? She shuddered involuntarily at the illicit thought, and then she managed to get a grip on herself.

“My loss.” Kit raised her shoulders and let them down slowly in an eloquent, dismissive shrug. Her strawberry-blond hair bobbed around her shoulders. “I shall have to go my whole life wondering what if…what if we had had one of those magical encounters of two ships passing in the night? What if we just missed the most dizzying lovemaking of our lives? Ah, but unfortunately life is just one big what if.”

Yes, she could pretend to be a vixen when she needed to. There was at least a sliver of truth in those mythical tabloid accounts of her sex life. She smiled to herself when he jerked his eyes away from her.

The plane began its final approach and Kit’s smile faded. At the captain’s orders she readjusted her seat belt, thoughts of her seatmate disappearing as the panic began. Fingers tense, she gripped the armrests. Although she had flown to all corners of the world, she still feared takeoffs and landings.

She screwed her eyes shut, missing the look of concern that crossed her seatmate’s face as she began using breathing exercises in order to remain calm. Slowly she inhaled and exhaled, letting her chest rise and fall in a rhythmic motion. Few knew the fearless Kit O’Brien had an Achilles’ heel. Few had seen the one-woman rebellion grip her seat as if the devil himself was flying.

In the numbing black Kit felt a stray hair lift away from her terrified face. Through her mindless panic Kit suddenly felt a fire as skin touched skin. His right hand covered her left one, his fingertips slowly caressing her whitened knuckles. An electric energy of desire liquefied her veins, sending warmth spreading through her. His touch made her forget herself, and Kit barely felt the beginning of the descent. Her body hummed from his touch, and she imagined him kissing her. He claimed her ruby lips, tasting and teasing them with his tongue until they were swollen with the blood of passion.

The blessed thump came, and brakes squealed in their whine to stop the speeding plane. Slowly Kit opened her eyes, blinking to shake off disorientation. Though she was finally on the ground, she wasn’t sure she was safe. In the span of less than three hours, Kit knew her life had somehow been altered, but she wasn’t sure exactly how.

Focusing on the seat back in front of her, she brought the fingers of her right hand up to touch her lips. She felt the stickiness of her lipstick and exhaled deeply. It was fantasy, although it had seemed so real.

The pressure of his fingers lifted as he abruptly withdrew his hand from hers. His voice sounded almost curt. “We’re here.”

Kit blinked twice and focused as an icy coolness descended upon her hand. Her skin still tingled, missing the heat of his fingers. “Uh, good.”

Steadying her shaking voice, Kit continued to speak as the plane came to a stop. “Thanks for nursing me through the landing. It was sweet.”

He raised an eyebrow and Kit wondered if he knew that her thoughts a moment ago had been anything but sweet.

“It was nothing.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, and Kit felt her feminine ego shatter a bit as he dismissed her. She didn’t know why she was expecting something from a total stranger, but somehow she did. Maybe she really was the fool her father insisted she was.

With new determination she stood, the moment the seat belt light went off. “Well, thanks for sharing the flight. I’m off. I’ve got a rather difficult job ahead of me.”

“Good luck.” He didn’t blink, but instead looked at her as if memorizing her features.

Kit flushed. “Thanks.”

He didn’t respond, but instead joined her in the aisle. He towered four inches over her, and Kit stepped back. He must be at least six feet tall, she mused, watching him retrieve her two carry-on pieces with an almost practiced ease.

Oh, well, Kit thought a bit wistfully as he shrugged into his black sport coat. One more look couldn’t hurt. She let her gaze travel down his shirt’s button line to where it tapered to a perfectly proportioned waist. As he turned away from her, Kit decided that whoever he was, he was definitely one fit man. His masculine aura so fully commanded the small section of first class that the gray-haired woman behind her jostled her aside for a better view.

Knocked off balance, Kit crashed forward into him. He caught her easily, and under the soft cloth of his shirt taut muscles rippled. Instinctively her fingertips splayed across his firm chest. So hard, so solid…her knees wobbled as her body immediately molded to his. Delicious delirium overcame her as she inhaled his musky, all-male scent.

His strong arms steadied her. As his deep brown eyes looked down at her, Kit felt as if she were sinking into those gold-flecked pools.

“Are you okay?”

His soft-spoken words brought reality crashing back in. Shaken, Kit stepped away, but not before she saw his eyes darken and his face cloud over.

“I’m fine,” she lied, wondering if he had felt her desire. Did he know how tempted she had been by him during the flight? His guarded expression revealed nothing, and his long brown lashes hooded his eyes. Kit knew she couldn’t leave it like this. This man was going to haunt her dreams, and she didn’t even know his name. He at least had to have a name. Panic overwhelmed her, and she knew she had to say something to him, no matter what the consequences.

“Come on, honey. I’ve got to catch a connection to San Juan. Could you get a move on?”

“What?” Kit turned in disbelief to look at the woman behind her. The carry-ons Kit held crashed into one of the seats, and she paused to readjust her grip. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The woman’s flat smile revealed her irritation and impatience.

Kit put on her most dazzling smile and turned around. “It was nice to have—”

The aisle ahead of her was empty. He was gone.

LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER Kit wondered what she had gotten herself into as she slid the pass card into the door handle of cabin 4648. The room certainly wasn’t what she was accustomed to, or what she was expecting.

“At least it’s an outside view,” Kit muttered as she slowly opened the door to the last spot available on less than twenty-four hours’ notice. Although the Island Voyager billed itself as a modern, comfortable ship, Kit decided the description didn’t apply to the bottom class of cabins.

Kit wrinkled her nose as she surveyed the dorm-size rectangular room she would be sharing with a roommate. The window was directly opposite the door, and on each side of the window were two tiny twin beds. Above them upper berths, normally hidden in the ceiling, were now lowered and locked into place.

Kit faced the window. The writing desk next to her right hip doubled as a dresser. Then she turned to her left. The sink and dressing table were on this wall, along with a small closet that was next to the sink. Even the door leading to the shower and toilet was small. Not a lot of space for one person, much less two. Her bathroom at home was twice as large as the entire room.

But the cabin would have to suffice for the three nights she would be on the Last Frontier theme cruise.

Kit pictured Eleni’s face, and now she knew why her editor had gotten that odd expression when Kit had accepted the assignment.

“I won’t be able to get you a press kit or an assignment sheet until tomorrow,” Eleni had said. “I’ll have a package meet the ship in Nassau.”

“Fine,” Kit had said.

“If you’re sure. They say they have one passenger spot available.” Eleni had pushed a stray brown hair out of her face. “You’d have to be willing to share a cabin.”

“A roommate?” Kit had blinked, but at that moment Eleni’s intercom had buzzed with the announcement that Michael O’Brien was on his way up. Unwilling to face her father, Kit had said, “I’ll take it.”

“Get going.” Eleni had waved at the door to the side hall. “You can pick up your tickets at LaGuardia. Just enjoy yourself until the information arrives tomorrow. And, Kit, be sensible!”

With that Kit had fled. And so here she was, sharing a cabin with someone she didn’t know, and all of this in order to do an interview she wouldn’t know anything about until tomorrow.

Kit glanced at her watch and wondered how Eleni had fared with Kit’s father, the domineering patriarch of O’Brien Publications. Knowing her father’s temper and his belief that his society daughter should not work, Kit was sure the morning meeting had not gone well. No, her father would be furious she had escaped to an out-of-town assignment. She grimaced. She owed her editor a big one.

Still, Kit needed these next four days. Not only would she prove herself a worthy journalist, she might even get to relax before going home. By that time, perhaps, her brother, Cameron, would have yet another new girlfriend. Her father loved the idea of getting Cameron married even more than he liked the idea of Kit marrying. Every time Cameron had a girlfriend it usually took the heat off Kit for a while.

She rotated her neck to stretch out the kinks left over from the flight. After the press packet and assignment sheet arrived tomorrow, she would do the interview, write the story, and get her father off of her back in the process.

The door opened and Kit waited for her roommate. More than one person entered, but Kit ignored the conundrum and smiled.

“Kit!” The woman Kit had had the misfortune of being seated next to on the bus from the airport screeched shrilly in delight and gave Kit a big, smothering bear hug. “I didn’t believe it when I saw that you were in our cabin! I’m Georgia, remember?”

“Our cabin?” Kit blinked as Georgia released Kit and another woman stepped into the cabin.

“Right, you’re rooming with me, Becca and Paula. Becca’s by the pool. Paula, this is Kit, Kit, Paula. Anyway I said, Paula, I met Kit on the bus. She’s really sweet and she thinks Last Frontier is the greatest thing since sliced bread. And since Carmen had to cancel on us, at least we’ve got Kit.” Georgia inspected the view out the window. “Look! I can see the building where we checked in!”

“Nice to meet you, Paula.” Kit offered her hand automatically to hide her shock. Oh, no. Not one, but three roommates. And they all believed she loved a television show, one she’d never even seen! Somehow she remained calm. “I’m Kit O’Brien.”

“Paula Sullivan from Sandpoint, Idaho,” Paula replied, returning the handshake. She assessed Kit for a moment, her direct gaze speculative. “You look familiar. Have you ever been on television?”

“Um, no,” Kit said quickly, ignoring the time she had been on Hard Copy for chaining herself to a fence to stop an historic building from being torn down.

Paula ran a hand through the long black hair that fell to her waist and shrugged. “Probably not.”

Kit shuddered with relief as Georgia bustled about the claustrophobic room like a mother hen. “I want a top bunk. Be sure to take one of the bottom bunks if you want, Kit.”

“Thanks.” Kit sat down on the bottom bunk opposite the bathroom as Georgia continued to open drawers and explore every inch of the tiny cabin. She hoped Georgia didn’t snore. She hadn’t thought to pack earplugs.

“It’s 3:45! Time to get moving, y’all.” Georgia remained in motion, this time heading toward the door. “I want to get registered for the events and then get a good spot to watch the boat sail. They’ve put all of us on late seating at 7:15. Since we’ll go directly to the party afterward, everybody needs to wear their dresses to dinner. Did I tell you about the last theme cruise I went on, Paula?”

Kit ignored her roommate’s conversation, her brow furrowing. She was terribly unprepared for this assignment. Normally she did tons of research, not just stuff clothes into a carry-on and wait for an assignment sheet to arrive.

“Are you ready, Kit?” Georgia was still in motion. “We sail in thirty minutes, and Paula and I want a good spot. Let’s move it, y’all.”

For the lack of having any better idea or plan, Kit decided to just let her roommates sweep her along. The way her luck was going, it couldn’t hurt.

JOSHUA PARKER LET the warm ocean breeze flow through the brown shoulder-length locks that had less than one week until shorn short. He turned his face toward the sun, inhaling the salt-tinged air deep into his lungs. Even the fact that the boat was still docked in port, with the oily port smell mixing in, did little to discourage the feeling of well-being now filling him.

He had to admit, despite his initial reservations of participating in a theme cruise, the ship was nice, the weather wonderful. And he definitely could do without the cold dreary New York City November he had left behind. He was tired of slush melting around subway vents, tired of gray skies and tired of the gloom caused by buildings that refused to let the elusive sun touch the ground.

Even winter in Upstate New York would feel freer than the city that had snared his soul and held it captive for nine years. Escape was just around the corner, almost in sight, and Joshua wanted, with a passion, to permanently claim the open skies that hovered above his apple orchards. Even under a foot of snow his land remained unmarred by progress for miles and miles on end, glistening in its infinite whiteness.

Joshua sighed and admitted the truth—the rebel inside his soul was gone. No longer a wild child, now all he wanted was to return to the life of a gentleman farmer, as his father had phrased it many times before their big fight. It was a Jeffersonian phrase Joshua had once hated, but now it meant freedom, and freedom was what he craved.

Joshua turned from the enticing view of blue-green water that his private balcony afforded and opened the sliding glass door to reenter his suite. A blast of cool, manufactured air greeted his face, and as he surveyed the sitting area of the penthouse suite, he wondered how many other people had two love seats and a coffee table in their cabin. It was more space than he needed. He walked over to the minibar. Since he wasn’t paying for this cruise he might as well indulge in luxuries like three-dollar bottled water and penthouse suites.

In fact, if the cruise hadn’t been so important to the executive producers and owners of Last Frontier, Joshua doubted he would have even bothered to attend. With the hit television show in its final season, he wanted to permanently close this chapter of his life. Sure, the fans loved the show he had created and nurtured, but the success of Last Frontier had left him oddly empty. In fact, it had burned him out and soured him on writing.

Maybe that’s why he had bought the farm, doing four years ago what his father had first wanted for his only son.

The age-old cliché fit best, Joshua thought. Hindsight was twenty-twenty. At age thirty-two he had come full circle, finding himself in the same place he would have been, anyway, only now he met his father man-to-man.

The boy who had once selfishly destroyed his father’s chance of a political career, not once but twice, had disappeared. In his place was a man who knew that parents were to be treasured, not tormented.

It was something the childish Kit O’Brien would find out in her own time, if she ever stopped running away long enough to grow up.

He took a long sip of the cold water and remembered the look of interest flickering behind Kit’s green eyes when he boarded the plane.

Joshua grinned, recalling her expression at his proposition. The words had somehow rolled easily off his tongue, the idea of seducing New York’s most notorious heiress in an airplane lavatory too irresistible to pass up.

She had almost taken him up on it, he thought with an ironic smile. She had almost consented without even knowing who he was, which had made her all the more interesting to him.

Usually people wanted something from him in return for their attentions, ever since the first Last Frontier convention, when he had become a fan idol. He hated it.

Worse, as much as he understood Bill Davies’s reasons, he still blamed Bill for forcing him into the public light. The producer had insisted Joshua make a few cameos in the show, and he’d insisted Joshua make appearances at fan conventions.

All Joshua had wanted was to fade into the background and let only the actors’ stars shine, but Bill hadn’t listened to Joshua’s arguments until the show had manifested into a cult phenomenon with a life of its own.

But by then the damage to Joshua’s privacy could never be repaired. Now there were Web sites where people who knew nothing about him discussed his personal life and speculated on it. Stemming from that were the women who wanted Joshua Parker, the man who could possibly make them a star, not Joshua Parker, the person. Once bitten, twice shy. Been there, done that, never again.

Joshua shook his head. From her champagne-and-caviar reputation of having careened through at least three fiancés, he knew Kit probably had men pursuing her all the time.

But except for his blatant proposition made for the heck of it, he wasn’t pursuing her. Nor would he want to. The price of being associated with Kit O’Brien would be too high, too public. His philosophy was to only read the tabloids, not be in them. No, long ago he’d learned the hard way to give tabloid reporters a wide berth, knowing now that they always printed the worst.

But after meeting the infamous Kit O’Brien, he’d decided she backed up all the press and rumors about her.

And the rumors said she wasn’t currently available, anyway, despite last night’s fiasco. The morning tabloid headlines revealed for everyone her public humiliation of Blaine Rourke, the man everyone pegged as Kit’s current fiancé. Despite Kit’s dumping Meaty Choice dog food over Blaine’s head and down his tux at a charity dog show, “her father’s favorite godson” wasn’t likely to give up on getting Kit to the altar, even if one daily paper had snidely headlined the story Kit’ten Dogs Fiancé.

Although he hated the press, he had to admit he was somewhat curious as to why the society brat had done it. At the local newsstand where he normally purchased his Times, he had instead picked up the tabloid and skimmed the entire article. Of course the article didn’t give any clues as to her motives. He had replaced the tabloid and paid for his New York Times newspaper.

She probably didn’t have an excuse, doing it only to see her face in the papers. He’d done the same thing himself, when he was young and immature. No wonder her desperate need for escape, Joshua thought wryly as he sipped his water. Her father’s wrath was bad enough that she had flown away at first light.

Still, unlike his own father, Joshua knew as well as Kit probably did that Michael O’Brien was more smoke than fire. He had tolerated Kit’s well-publicized antics each time, no matter how outrageous. Joshua particularly remembered the people at the newsstand discussing her swimming with the seals in a skin-colored bikini to focus on animal rights. If he also remembered it right, there was a time she spent the night in a cardboard box in the middle of winter with some drunk ruffian to call attention to the plight of the homeless.

The grass was always greener, Joshua mused with a tinge of bitterness. Kit didn’t realize how lucky she was. Time after time her father forgave her and bailed her out of her messes. He hadn’t been so lucky. After costing his father his dream, his father’s disappointment measured in a very long, silent period. Maybe that’s why she remained so spoiled, and had been such a temptation to him on the airplane. She clearly had a passion for life.

Joshua blinked and tossed the now empty water bottle effortlessly into the wastebasket. His calves ached, so he kicked off his shoes. Here he was, on a cruise, and despite his exhaustion he was still wired. Normally he tried to catch a nap on the plane, but sitting next to Kit had made napping absolutely impossible. As he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes, he again pictured her face as he asked her if she had ever made love on a plane. Her mouth had puckered into a surprised O and her green eyes had darkened to almost an emerald. Her soft reddish hair had shimmered as she shivered.

Too bad he hadn’t discovered what the rest of her body felt like next to his. If it was anything like the sparks that erupted between them when she had tripped on the plane and he had caught her against his chest…loving her body would be phenomenal.

In fact, as a male who lately had chosen a long period of celibacy, he had needed to make a quick retreat from the plane in order to hide his body’s immediate reaction to the feel of hers.

Joshua opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. Five minutes before he had to leave for the Last Frontier staff meeting. He let his thoughts drift. Kit hadn’t mentioned where she was going. Miami was a connection to just about anywhere.

Not that it mattered at this point in his life. Kit O’Brien would never fit into his world. She was parties and fancy clothes. He was jeans and a cowboy hat, mud and muck and the farm near Syracuse, New York. Her limo probably took her everywhere. He always took the subway in the city.

In a little less than three weeks he would ride his horse every morning through the orchards, supervise the dairy operation and return full-time to his nonfiction writing, a career he had put on hold once he had begun scripting Last Frontier. She’d be deep in the party rounds of the “A” list society Christmas season.

Still, he thought with a grin as he closed his eyes and pictured the way Kit’s yellow knit skirt clung to and revealed her shapely, toned legs, she was something to behold.