Katherine Garbera - The Texan's Contested Claim - The Texan's Contested Claim / The Greek Tycoon's Secret Heir

Garrett sat on a log, watching Ali stroll alongside the creek, snapping pictures.

In spite of the danger lurking somewhere beyond the boundaries of the ranch, he felt surprisingly relaxed, calm even. He’d been living with the threat of his would-be assassin long enough to know that his current mood wasn’t normal. He also knew Ali was responsible for the change. She had a way of dealing with adversity that reduced its importance, made the most dire situation seem almost comical.

Pulling a Scarlett O’Hara .

He shook his head in amusement. Leave it to Ali to come up with something like that. But as ridiculous as her method sounded, he couldn’t argue its success. Caught in a similar situation, another woman would be wringing her hands and wailing about her plight. Not Ali. In spite of the danger they might be in, she was seemingly having the time of her life, crawling over rocks and stumps, taking pictures of plants and bugs, and all because she refused to think about their problem.

Some might consider her method of dealing with adversity a form of denial, foolish and nonproductive. A week ago, Garrett would have thought the same damn thing. But after spending time with her and experiencing, if only by association, the benefits of her methodology, he was beginning to believe the whole world would be a better place if more people took Ali’s approach to life.

“Careful,” he called to her, as her foot slipped on a rock. “That water might not be deep, but I’ll bet it’s cold.”

“And icky,” she said, making a face, as she looked through the viewfinder. “Lots of moss and slime. Oh!” she squealed. “There’s a turtle.”

“In the water?”

“Hiding under a rock.” She lowered the camera and motioned for him to join her. “Come look.”

“Thanks, but I’ve seen a turtle before.”

“Not one this big. He’s huge!”

Heaving a sigh, Garrett pulled the pistol from his waistband and set it on the log, before crossing to her.

She lifted the camera strap over her head and dropped it over his. “You can see him better through the zoom lens,” she explained. “Hunker down here,” she said, pointing to the spot where she’d been standing. “He’s on the far side of the creek.”

Garrett squatted down and brought the camera before his face. “I don’t see anything.”

She stooped behind him to peer over his shoulder. “Move the camera a little bit to the left. A little more. Do you see it now?”

He lowered the camera in disgust. “I don’t see anything but rocks and muddy water.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she fussed, and reached over his shoulders to bring the camera before his face again. Placing her cheek next to his, to align their vision, she nudged the camera a fraction to the left. “There. Do you see him now?”

See what? Garrett wasn’t sure he hadn’t been struck blind. He’d heard of sensory overload before, but he had never personally experienced its debilitating powers. With Ali’s breasts hugging the back of his neck like a cushioned collar, her cheek chafing like silk against his, and her strawberry-scented breath teasing his nostrils, all he could think was, with a slight turn of his head, he could taste her strawberry-flavored lips. A quarter turn more, and he could bury his face in the pillowed softness of her breasts.

“Well, do you?” she asked impatiently. She glanced his way, and drew back with a start, when she found him looking at her and not the turtle. Her eyes rounded. “You’re feeling it, aren’t you?” she cried. “That sizzle of sensation?”

He considered lying, but it seemed pointless to continue to deny what must be obvious.

“Makes you want to test it, doesn’t it? See how far we can push it without getting burned.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, and wet her lips.

Without allowing himself time to think of consequences, he turned on the balls of his feet, caught her face between his hands and stood, bringing her mouth to his. He tasted the strawberries that had teased him moments before, found the lingering sweetness of grapes, before her lips parted beneath his on a sigh, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He did so gladly, exploring the secret crevices, teasing her tongue until it danced with his.

“Sizzling yet?” he murmured against her lips.

“Oh, yeah,” she breathed. “How about you?”

He slipped his hands inside her jacket and smoothed his hands up her ribs. “I’m not sure. Describe the sensation to me.”

Her breath caught as his thumbs bumped over the fullness of her breasts. “Can’t,” she said, releasing the breath on a shuddery sigh against his lips. “Brain’s fried.”

He was afraid his was, too. The curves his hands traced were soft and utterly feminine, her body’s response to his touch sensual and arousing. Desire stirred his loins, a none too subtle reminder of how long it had been since he’d been with a woman.

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