Chapter Seven
Seven
Jesse stared at Esme in shock.
Surely he couldn’t have heard her correctly. Although the surge of passion shooting through him shouted how much he hoped he had. He wasn’t even disappointed to see the three supposedly perfect candidates bail. His thoughts were too wrapped up in Esme.
“Try out?” he asked, pulling the barn door closed, sealing them back inside, a few stray pieces of hay crunching under his boots. “What exactly do you mean by that? Audition to be my wife?”
“That might be a bit of a quick leap down the aisle. But a test run as your girlfriend—your wife, if you will—could give me the chance to see if I really like it.” She shifted in her boots. Her blond hair fell over her blouse, hinting at her curves.
“You’re certain of what you’re suggesting? After everything you said about the matchmaking process?” His brow raised as he leaned against the stall door. Duke poked his head out of the stall, tilting it sideways. The horse chuffed, knocking his muzzle into Jesse.
A wide grin broke across Esme’s face, lighting her eyes. She reached up to ruffle Duke’s forelock.
“Part of me feels like that’s all I want for Christmas,” she said earnestly, her blue eyes sparkling. “To be honest, the other part of me isn’t sure about anything, particularly life on a ranch and one that’s not even near my relatives.”
He liked that family was important to her.
How ironic that until now he hadn’t thought of that being a core part of who she was.
So much so that she’d risked her life coming out here in a horrible storm just because her father had asked for her help.
He started to churn over the possibility of chucking the matchmaker notion and giving an earnest shot at seeing where the attraction to Esme led.
“And you’re okay with this, even though we barely know each other?”
“Seriously? You’re asking me that?” She snorted on a laugh. “You were willing to consider marrying someone you’d never even met in person.”
“Fair statement.” He cupped her shoulders, then slid his hands down her arms, linking fingers.
“Although now that I think about it, your matchmaker had you fill out a profile. So let’s do that.”
“You want to take a survey now?”
“Not a written one. We can do it verbally.” She leaned closer, the heat of her breath a tempting caress. “Organically.”
“Hmm, sounds intriguing. Do you want to go back to the house or to the office?”
She inclined her head, voice husky. “Your office. It’s closer.”
His heart rate picked up the pace. “After you, ma’am.”
He gestured toward his office, following her inside. The Christmas tree lit the room well enough, so he didn’t turn on the overhead light.
Esme settled onto the leather sofa, leaving space for him. “I’ll start easy. What’s your favorite music?”
“Country, acoustic.” He sat beside her, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against her. “Simple but rich.”
“Mmm, sexy answer. I can imagine long, slow kisses with guitar music in the background.” Her eyes flamed, lighting an answering fire in him. “I like soft rock, old classics. And there’s common ground there to be found in coffeehouse styles of the tunes.”
“Favorite author?”
Esme tapped her fingers along a stack of magazines on the table beside the couch. “Jane Austen. Favorite movie?”
“True Grit, the original. All Stetsons, all the time.” Watching Westerns was a ritual he’d started with his grandfather long ago. Funny how he hadn’t thought about that until now.
“What’s an absolute no-no in a relationship?”
Her question surprised him, but his answer was easy and earnest. “Lying.”
A pained wince twitched at her face. Lines of worry etched her brow. It made him wonder what had happened in her past to cause them. And made him want to ensure it would never happen again.
She braced her shoulders. “Agreed.”
Good. “If you could live anywhere other than Texas, where would it be?”
“There is nowhere other than Texas.” Tucking her feet beneath her, she preened like a cat.
He threw back his head and laughed, full-out. He liked the way she could draw that from him. “Ah, perfect answer. Your turn.”
Esme pursed her lips. “When was the last time you cried?” Then she shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t really expect you to respond to that. Male machismo being what it is.”
She might say it didn’t matter, but she must have asked for a reason. He’d already gleaned that her father was a controlling type. Certainly, Sterling Perry had a reputation of being all business, all flash. No substance?
Had that question been a Freudian slip? Was Esme looking for more from the people in her life?
Regardless, he had no problem offering her an honest answer.
He looked past his desk to a nondescript piece of tack on the wall.
“The day my horse Apollo died. I’d had him since I was a kid.
I still keep his leather halter hanging there.
” He pointed to the wall. “I won’t be putting it on another horse. ”
“I’m so sorry for that loss. It sounds like Apollo was an amazing friend to you.”
Apollo had gotten him through every tough time in high school. He’d left it all behind when he rode. “I told you my family wasn’t close. That led me to spend most of my time in the stables. Everyone there brought me up, taught me a good work ethic, taught me about life.”
“You’re truly tugging at my heart here.”
He traced a finger along her cheekbone, just under her eye. “When was the last time you cried?”
“When my shoe broke in the rain.” She angled to nip his finger.
He chuckled, his hand cupping her shoulder and drawing her closer. “Have you considered designer boots? I bet you would rock them.”
She flattened her hands on his chest, her palms warm. “Well, thank you for the lovely compliment, cowboy.”
“I think we’re finding we have more in common here than we expected.” Her scent tempted him, enticed him, sending blood surging south.
“And we didn’t even need the matchmaker.” She stroked sensual circles on his chest that seared through his flannel shirt.
“And you do realize a part of being a wife means being in my bed?”
Her hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck. “That’s the part I’m most looking forward to.”
Esme didn’t consider herself an impulsive person, but she’d never been more certain of anything.
She wanted to make love to Jesse Stevens.
Here, now, in this office that felt so much more like the essence of him than his perfectly decorated home he’d put together with a laser focus on creating some mythical family.
Reality was better than dreams.
Reality with this man.
She met him halfway for the kiss, not that far to move as they were both already angling forward.
The hot sweep of his tongue along hers was bold and hungry.
His spicy scent filled her every breath.
Everything about the moment seared into her senses in a way she knew she would replay in memory again and again.
His fingers speared through her hair, massaging along her scalp as he drew her head closer.
She sank deeper into the kiss and delicious sensations licked along her spine.
She glided her fingers down his back and tugged the tails of his shirt from the waist of his jeans, tunneling up to stroke the muscled expanse of his back.
A frenzy burned at her even as she ached to savor every touch, taste, caress. Drawing the moment out sharpened the edge of desire, dulled the edge of time until she whispered against his mouth, “I’m ready to show you my sexy brain.”
He chuckled, his hands gliding down to clasp her hips. “Oh really?”
“Yes, and more.”
He growled softly in appreciation. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“You’ll reciprocate, of course.”
He angled back to meet her gaze. “Am I moving too fast for you?”
She struggled to gather her thoughts and how to express herself when she still had so many questions herself. “To be honest, I’ve never felt this much for someone so quickly. So yes, my head is spinning more than a little, but I’m sure. Very sure that this is what I want.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “even with the whole matchmaker gig, this is moving at lightning speed for me, too.”
“But you’re sure?” she repeated.
“Absolutely. I want you. Here. Now.”
“All I needed to hear.”
As soon as she said the words, he slid from the couch to kneel in front of her, the lit tree glimmering behind him.
Between kisses, he eased her sweater over her head, breaking briefly to tug it off and toss it aside.
The air was cool against her flesh, then warm as he touched her again, unhooking her bra, freeing her for his touch and gaze.
He peeled down her jeggings, his hands warm, launching butterflies in her stomach and goose bumps along her skin.
He reclined her back onto the sofa, his lips grazing her neck, nuzzling aside her sweater to nip along her collarbone.
He was definitely overdressed, and she intended to fix that.
Immediately. She made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shoving the flannel off his broad shoulders, flinging it aside.
Then… Wow… Just wow… His chest was on display, a feast for her eyes and hands.
She arched up for another kiss, desire pulsing through her, demanding more. Of this moment. Of him.
She tucked her hands into his jeans pocket and whispered against his mouth. “Birth control?”
“Yes, I have it.”
“So glad.” She teased his bottom lip between her teeth.
“Me, too.” He rested his forehead against hers for a moment before rolling to his feet.
He fished out his wallet, withdrew a condom and set it on the coffee table on top of a stack of farming magazines.