Mary Baxter - Heart Of Texas

Stop it! Sara chided herself, feeling her face flame and hearing him yelp. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You hit the place.” His words came out a grunt, and she noticed new patches of sweat on the exposed side of his face.

“I want you to roll over. Your knee needs to come up to your waist,” Sara told him, her tone all business now. “The pain will be severe at first, then it’ll taper off.”

“I know,” he ground out. “That’s what my doctor does at home.”

Once she had the knee where she wanted it, cupped into his waist, and her hands back on his flesh, she felt the knotted muscles give way.

“Ahhh,” he moaned.

“Better?”

Clark blew out a long breath. “You bet.”

“Think you can sit up?”

“I know I can.”

Sara stood. “Once you’re upright, we’ll head for the sofa. I want to put some heat on that area.”

It wasn’t near the ordeal Sara suspected it would be, though again he was a big man. Still, he was agile and not at all cumbersome on his feet. That was what had made him an all-state athlete in school.

Within seconds after he was up, Clark was sitting on the couch with his head back and his eyes closed.

“Are you all right?” Sara asked, scrutinizing him closely.

His eyes popped open, and he squinted up at her. “You should know.”

“In that case, you’re welcome.”

“Patting yourself on the back, huh?”

“Self congratulations aren’t quite in order,” she finally said. “You still have to get up and walk out of here before I can do that.”

That mocking smile she also remembered softened his heretofore tense lips. Talk about sex appeal—he seemed to ooze it, a scar under his right eye, another trophy from his football days, heightening that appeal.

She couldn’t say that he was handsome. He wasn’t. His features were too irregular, yet somehow they worked, especially in conjunction with his unkempt sandy-colored hair, great physique, tanned skin and brilliant blue eyes. They were all undeniable pluses. With those, a man’s face didn’t have to be perfect.

Suddenly Sara felt self-conscious, thinking how awful she must look, only to jerk herself back in hand. It didn’t matter how she looked. He was a onetime patient—nothing more, nothing less. “Hold still while I get the heating pad.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’m afraid to move.”

“Don’t be.” Sara’s lips twitched. “We can do it all over again, you know.”

“I’ll pass,” he said tightly.

She turned and walked toward her makeshift office. When she reached the room, her heart was beating far faster than it should have been. Damn!

Not bad, not bad at all, Clark thought as he watched Sara make her way out of the room, at least not from the back. If nothing else, her derriere was intriguing, moving in perfect rhythm with her every step. Yet she was uptight, except when she’d had her hands on him, he corrected himself.

He jerked his gaze off her and let a few expletives fly. What the hell was wrong with him? He knew, though he hated to admit it. There was touching and there was touching.

His insides vibrated just thinking about the sensations that had run rampant through his body everywhere she touched. He hadn’t been lying, no siree, when he’d said she had magic fingers.

He wondered what they would feel like on another part of his body. He swore, his face tightening as if he had lockjaw. Thinking of her in terms of sex was the last thing he needed. It was bad enough that he’d had to come to her for treatment, in light of why he was in town.

On the other hand, he couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Because of who she was, she had saved him from having either to return to Houston or go to the hospital in Lufkin. Once she put the heat to his back, he was convinced he’d be as good as new. Oh, he’d be sore for a few days, unable to brand any cattle, but he could live without that.

Besides, he hadn’t come to town to play with his cows. He’d come to land a coup that would make him rich. He wasn’t about to let anything mess that up, certainly not his libido.

Yet when Sara walked back into the room, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. What galled him was the fact that she wasn’t even conventionally pretty.

She wasn’t homely, either.

Because her face was devoid of makeup, he could see her great bone structure—high cheekbones and wide-set green eyes. Her skin was incredible, too—a milky white that appeared as smooth as a baby’s butt.

Her hair was an odd color, somewhere between auburn and light chocolate, which added to her allure. She wore it in a short, straight style that accented her long neck.

But it was her body that was the attention grabber. Although extremely slender and tall, she had more than ample breasts, breasts that even her loose-fitting caftan couldn’t hide. He wished he could see her waist; he’d bet his hands would fit around it.

Still, she wasn’t the type of woman he had ever been attracted to. So why the sudden fixation with her? he asked himself, but got no answer.

Feeling desperate to elevate his thoughts to the impersonal level, Clark blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “How much do I owe you?”

She stiffened visibly. “Nothing at the moment. I suggest you come for another treatment, but in my office.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You really think that’s necessary?”

“Absolutely.” She paused, giving him a cool, pointed look. “Unless you want your back to go out again.”

“You know better than that,” he muttered crossly. But he dreaded another session because her magic hands messed with his mind.

“Wise man.”

“Whatever the doctor says.”

Her professional facade didn’t slip one iota. “Since that’s settled, let’s get this heating pad behind you so it can get to work.”

She plugged it in near where he was sitting, then placed it behind his back. Although she had been close to him earlier, he’d been in too much pain to notice how fresh and sweet she smelled. Now her scent hit him in the face like a slap. He sucked in his breath and held it.

She stepped back and peered down at him. “Are you in pain again?”

“Uh, no,” he said, turning away, unable to meet her eyes, especially with his manhood rallying around his thoughts.

“Would you care for coffee or something else to drink?” Her tone was polite but emotionless.

“Uh, no, thanks.”

Sara sat in the chair adjacent to him, and for a moment an uneasy silence fell between them. It was one of the few times he had ever been at a loss for words. But then, he’d never been in quite such a precarious situation.

He tried to concentrate on her homey but tastefully decorated home while the heat seeped into his back, but he couldn’t. He was too conscious of her.

“Do you mind me asking what brings you back to River Oaks?”

“My ranch,” he said off the top of his head, then kicked himself mentally. Why the hell didn’t he tell her the truth?

She gave him a disapproving look, which raised his ire and his curiosity.

“I was hoping you’d come to see about your aunt.”

That flat statement tightened his gut, as well as the noose around his neck. “That, too, of course.”

“She’s a sweetheart, you know? I see her almost every day when I visit my mother, who’s also in the nursing home.”

“I appreciate that a lot.” Tell her, dammit. But the words still wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat.

“She would appreciate seeing you a lot more.”

While her criticism was wrapped in soft words, he felt the sting nonetheless, a feeling he didn’t like. “Look, I’ve intruded enough on your time. It’s late, and I know you have to work tomorrow.”