"Here we go," she warned, and the stallion reared up and mounted in one smooth movement.

The mare squealed again, trying to plunge forward, but Jamie held on with an iron grip. Alex pulled her tail to the side, helping the stallion to follow his instinct.

Echo quivered as the stallion began pumping, and a strange whicker gurgled in her throat without actually being uttered. Jamie patted her neck reassuringly, but the mare seemed not to notice he was there at all. Alex was breathing rapidly, watching as the stallion snorted and heaved, all the muscles in his body were corded and sheened with a thick sweat.

She tried to concentrate on the animals, but Jamie's eyes were burning a hole in her back. She felt a warm flush rise on her cheekbones, and slowly, against all her willpower, she turned slightly in his direction.

The look that passed between them was palpable, an electric current. It sent a wave of heat rocketing down through her body. His eyes had darkened to the hue of flinty smoke, smoldering with intensity.

Exhaling with an audible gasp, Alex tore her eyes away, fully embarrassed now, laying her palm against Bold's slick shoulder. This had sooo been a mistake. Her own limbs began to tremble in tune with the stallion's quivering, wet skin. The animal tensed, and a straining, final pause ensued.

"It's over," she murmured, relieved to be moving into action. She pulled the stallion from the mare quickly and efficiently, leading him from the barn. Walking in circles, she allowed the stallion to calm himself after the intense mating. Finally, the great puffs of air issuing from his distended nostrils slowed, and he ceased his dancing, lowering his massive head almost docilely. Her own heart rate continued to churn however. Her nerves were as tight as a bowstring.

Sooo not a good idea, Alex, she continued to lecture herself. You're an idiot. Just asking for trouble, over and over, aren't you?

She paced, jerking the stallion along with her sporadic movements, worrying her lower lip again. Well, forget it. It's the absolute worst thing that could happen. He'll be over here all the time, sniffing around, wanting more... forget it. You're in mourning, anyway. At least you should be!

"I need a cold shower," she muttered angrily. She had never felt so strung out, and so damned irritable. All because of one James Sheldon, who never ceased to aggravate or incite her emotionally in one way or the other. In anger or lust or amusement. It was a roller coaster ride a all of the time a good to bad and back again.

She stomped into the barn with the stallion in tow, having thoroughly worked herself up as she calmed the horse down. The mare had since been curried and put in her stall. Jamie lounged on a hay bale, casually chewing on a wisp of grass. His expression was amiable, relaxed, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Alex ground her teeth and returned the sleepy-faced stallion to his stall.

"He sure looks contented."

Alex shot him a cold look. "He's male," she said simply. "Doesn't take much."

Jamie only rolled his eyes at the barb, and then rose, stretching languidly. Her anxiety rose at his obvious nonchalance, inciting her temper yet again. "Thanks for helping, Jamie" she said abruptly. "I'll be able to handle the other mare tomorrow myself now that I've got the hang of it."

She watched with a glimmer of wicked pleasure as his jaw tightened. "I guess that's a dismissal?"

"Take it how you want," she shot back, unable to rein in her perpetually belligerent mouth.

He stepped toward her ominously, but she stood her ground. The lines of his face had tightened with anger, and his eyes had darkened further, and her stomach actually curled as a tiny thread of uncertain fear wound through her. She had never seen him quite so pissed before.

He continued to advance, stopping a foot short of her to glower from his superior height. With false bravado, Alex stuck out her chin and glared back up at him. Inside, she quaked.

"I said you can go now, Jamie."

Unbelievably, he smiled. Staring, Alex realized that it didn't reach his eyes.

"You know," he said in a slow, even voice, "I'm really sick of all your bullshit, Ms. Winters."

"Then take a hike," she ground out. He was too damn close. Her nerves unraveled further, and she felt those tremors starting in her limbs again.

"Why do you always act like this? Are you bi-polar? Multiple personalities? What?"

Alex ground her teeth in order to keep her furious retort at bay. She tried simply to stare at his Adam's apple until he just left, but her eyes kept wandering back to his mouth. Again, she found herself inhaling the deliciously male scent of him.

"Alex, answer me. What are you afraid of.... that I'll try to hurt you or something? Make you do something you don't want?"

"No," she said quietly. "I'm afraid of all the things I do want."

There was a mere second where she watched his eyes glimmer, blue shadows swirling into gray, then he was on her, roughly pulling her body flush with his. His mouth was hot and insistent, and she opened instantly beneath the kiss, their tongues seeking one another with a slick, wet heat.

The spear of lust that shot through her was nothing like she had ever experienced. She felt an immediate flush of wet warmth between her legs, and the sweet, tortuous ache that went with it. Pressing herself against the length of his lean, hard body, she writhed without thinking, her hips finding and meeting the hard swell beneath his jeans. It was torture. It was bliss.

His lips moved to explore her earlobe, down the line of her jaw, to lap the little pulse at the base of her throat. A low, tormented sound escaped her. When his mouth dipped lower to tease her nipples through the thin fabric of her tank, she gasped raggedly, pulling his face up to her lips again as if she couldn't stand the intensity of pleasure.

This time, his kiss was a slow and deliberate assault on her senses. Her head was spinning, she was dripping with wanting. She mumbled his name against his mouth.

Jamie drew back slightly, and nipped at her lower lip, which was swollen and silky from the kiss. She watched him judge her expression, and she could not withhold her desire, the heaviness of wanting in her eyes.

He brushed one thumb across her nipple again, it hardened in response, and she whimpered. He leaned into the wet heat of her mouth once more, tasting her.

"I want to be inside you, Alex," he breathed into her, and their tongues met in a fiery duel. "I want to feel your heat." Alex felt her body melting, knowing there was nothing she wanted more than to take him into her body.

A car rumbled in the driveway. They started, and broke away from one another simultaneously. Jamie swore softly. He watched, breaking into a slow grin, as Alex fussed frantically with her tousled hair, and smoothed her clothing, her eyes wide with the look of a cornered animal.

"It's probably Mouse," Jamie consoled. "He had speech therapy at four." He glanced at his watch, which read five-o-five.

"Mouse drives?" Alex mumbled, seizing on the distraction.

"Yeah, when his Dad lets him, which isn't too often really. He's actually fairly sharp in certain ways, Alex. Mouse has got everybody fooled."

They waited in silence as footsteps approached. Alex wiped her hands on her jeans and stepped forward as a man appeared in the doorway. She squinted; hazy afternoon light framed him like a halo, leaving his features dark and blurred.

"Hello," he murmured politely. "Ms. Winters?" He stepped into the light.

Alex blinked in surprise, rendered mute for a moment. The man must have come straight from a Calvin Klein advertisement. Black hair, and dark, flashing eyes framed a lean, chiseled face with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. A full, firm mouth curled up in amusement at her perusal. He looked cultured and aristocratic in one glance, street tough and dangerous in another. She swallowed in confusion, thrown off guard. Who the hell was he?

"Alexandra Winters?"

"Yes," she cleared her throat and held out her hand, reverting to business formal. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone."

"My name is Michael Dalton." He took her hand in a warm, firm grip, holding it lingeringly as he smiled at her. "I'm sorry too, for dropping by unexpectedly. I was in the area, and just took a chance that you might be at home." He glanced over her shoulder at Jamie, nodded, and then returned his even gaze to Alex.

"Well," Alex returned, relaxing just a hair. "It's nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dalton."

"Michael."

"Michael then. What can I do for you?"

She could nearly hear Jamie grit his teeth in the background.

"Well, I run a consulting business out of Binghamton, New York. I recently purchased a weekend home near Genesee, about fifteen miles north of here. I have quite an interest in horses, have three of my own, but unfortunately, not a lot of time to spend with them."

"Oh." Alex smiled in earnest. "It seems we have a bit in common. The love of horses, that is."

"Yes, and I've heard that you accept animals for training?"

Jamie stepped forward. "Hey Alex, I need to get going."

"No problem, Jamie. Michael, this is a very, good friend and neighbor of mine, James Sheldon. He's a forester from the area and has been helping me get things in order here on the ranch. He's also helping with my breeding program, which I'll be happy to tell you about."

Michael stretched out his hand toward Jamie. "Pleased," he murmured.

Jamie was not pleased. The guy was staring him down like a cat that got to lick up all the cream while the dumb dog watched on in silence.

He finally took the cool, groomed hand, resisting the urge to squeeze down on it. Hard.

"Likewise," Jamie replied, with as much politeness as he could possibly muster. There wasn't much there, however.

He caught Alex's eyes briefly and saw her startled uncertainty. And underneath, her desire to conduct business.

So he got the hell out. Fast.

Jamie strode toward his pickup in the driveway, glaring at the sleek, black Mercedes S550 resting along side of the Ford. Christ, the car was worth close to a hundred grand.

A ribbon of Alex's voice reached him from across the lawn. "Michael, should we go inside? I could use a glass of lemonade, and we can discuss what sort of training you have in mind. Did you say your four-year old mare was a Hanoverian?"

His chest felt knotted like a hard, angry fist. He yanked open the car door and started the truck, taking care not to peel out or speed down the driveway too fast. He'd be damned if he let her know how agitated he was. And jealous.

But Jesus Christ, they had come damned close to something serious only minutes ago, but the second a flashy-looking male sauntered in, she had been all agog, flicking him away like a pesky insect.

The guy had reeked of money, of city, and that had certainly been enough for his cute little yuppie. Hadn't she even told him she preferred dark-haired men? He cursed himself aloud for allowing her to get under his skin once again.

He paused at the entrance to the drive, suddenly wondering if it was wise to leave Alex alone with the dark stranger. What if... The pickup idled in a bored monotone.

No, the guy was not out to rob her, that was for sure. Maybe get in her pants, judging from the suggestive look in his eye - a look Jamie had noticed, and recognized. He cursed again, furious, now wishing he had stayed around instead of storming off. Finally, he jammed the truck into first gear.

Once out of sight of the ranch, he punched the accelerator, ignoring the way the pot holes racked the pickup, bouncing him around like he was nothing but a rag doll. When he reached his own driveway, he bypassed the house, and thus any nagging, motherly questions, driving straight to the barn. He would give Lilah a good hard run and forget about the afternoon. Every damned part of it.

Pouring two tablespoons of lilac bubble bath into the swirling waters, Alex hummed a little tune. Suds rose in cloud-like billows, frothing and bursting as water churned in the heated depths beneath. Dipping her finger in, she tested the temperature. Heavenly.

Giving up her own attempt at music, she managed to find a classical station on the radio, scratchy and distorted, but at least it was Beethoven. She stripped and settled slowly into the steaming water. Every inch of her skin sighed with pleasure.

Michael Dalton. His sudden appearance had certainly led to an interesting turn of events. They had chatted together amiably for over an hour, finally settling in on the monetary issues and training agendas for his three horses. One gelding was to be trained specifically for trail riding, one for reining and roping events, and the third, an imported Hanoverian mare, to be molded for English pleasure riding, with a little fox hunting on the side. Michael liked variety in his equestrian hobby, wanting an animal appropriate for every occasion.

Her insides thrummed with anticipation. Alex had neglected to mention to Michael that a good, intelligent horse could be trained for all three disciplines. A greedy little overlook, but she wasn't about to let Michael Dalton slip away.

For having three animals, he didn't seem to really know much about them, really, but he had money to play with, that was for certain. Who could blame her? It was her business now.

Tomorrow, she was scheduled to meet up with Curt Greenwick and discuss the possibility of taking on his two animals for several months of work.

Finally, Eden Ranch was up and running a officially bringing cash to the coffers. She would be quite busy in the months to come.

Of course, Greenwick's business could be chalked up to Jamie Sheldon. Her thoughts turned guiltily to the events that transpired earlier in the afternoon. Alex had sent him away thoroughly pissed at her once again, of that she could be sure.

She sighed. Why was she so unnerved by Jamie? It made no sense at all. Michael's interruption had given her the much needed opportunity to cool off, and start thinking with her head again, and not with her undeniable desires.

Alex squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to let those heated moments slip into her mind's eye to taunt her. Impossible. She felt her nipples harden as foamy suds swirled teasingly around her breasts, the slow, heavy ache returned again. Her hand drifted slowly downward, into the warm waters between her thighs.

No, damn him. With a curse and a splash she sat up and yanked on the cold water nozzle, sending an icy blast coursing into the warm waters.

The sleek black Mercedes S550 hummed along the deserted stretch of highway. The state-of-the art, satellite music system remained silently unnoticed, having never been used at all. The entrancing purr of the engine was all the music that he required.

Marcus Allen swept his dark eyes across the landscape. Nothing, but the skeletal blanket of trees in the night. They stretched ever onward, taking up space, like row upon row of old grave markers with the engravings obliterated by time, no longer giving testimony to the dull lives they represented.

To Marcus, the forest seemed as useless as the animals that roamed through its belly, save for the logging of its timber. Construction, expansion, technology: that was what he understood. Not this traipsing through the mountains in blaze orange looking for an excuse to fire a rifle, not this snapping of nature photos of the great horned owl, nor the dragging of children through filthy campsites to pet bunnies and fawns. People were such insipid tools.

Marcus had discovered that Ms. Winters had purchased her very valuable piece of property for a song. Smart little bitch. Where did the sudden surge of her brainpower come from? The property had slipped through the long fingers of Ridgeway, Incorporated, a fact of which Brian Ridgeway was not proud. A fact about which Brian Ridgeway was quite furious, actually.

How had she managed it? A sneer twisted his full mouth as he recalled her scintillating body. Flashing those tits and that tempting honey sweet smile, just like she'd done to him earlier. He'd instantly, vividly felt the pull of her female force while in her presence.

Oddly, Ridgeway had described Alexandra Winters as a simple and snotty little piece of ass. That fact had told Marcus that their connection, their chemistry, was deliciously unique.

A decrepit, neon sign fluttered in and out of life with each gust of the breeze and caught his attention. It read "Deena's Diner", and beneath, "In the mood... for hot food?" His stomach decided that he was. The fare offered at the Deer Lick Inn, where he had the misfortune to book a room, was not sufficient to entice a rabid skunk.

The exterior of the diner was a faded gray, streaked down the sides by the effects of rain, mold, and road soot. The angular, fifties-style doorway was trimmed with a healthy dose of chrome, the only substance that had any shine left to it at all. He entered, bells jingling in his wake.

Marcus seated himself at the bar, both impatience and the whiff of ancient grease making his stomach sour. He briefly considered leaving. There were a few older couples chewing, like bovine, in the scattered booths of the restaurant. The only other patron at the bar was a burly, biker-type with a leather jacket that read, "Road Warrior," and displayed Vietnam Veteran patches on the arm. An older waitress frowned at him, pursing her already more-than-pinched mouth.

"Tracey! Customer out here. I'm busy." She yanked a wad of receipts from the counter and waddled to the register, glancing at him furtively under wads of mascara.

Marcus opened a menu, bemused. There were not many women who passed over a second glance at him. It was a useful tool, his dark appeal, and when combined with the gift of a razor-sharp mind, he was really quite unstoppable. And when something got in his way, it wasn't there for long.

Like Ms. Alex Winters. The results of his hour with her were interesting. Number one, she hadn't recognized him as a fake. Number two, she'd found him attractive. And number three, he'd realized that he was dealing with a very smart little cookie, and an excellent actress to boot. She would be fun to... spar with. But his teeth were much sharper, of that he was certain.

"All the better to eat you with, my dear," he murmured. He anticipated the remainder of their game.

"Can I take your order?"

Marcus glanced up to find a petite blond waitress, twenty-something, with full, taut breasts that strained at the cheap fabric of her uniform, and sky-blue eyes that widened as she took in all of him in. There were dark smudges under thick, sandy lashes, like she hadn't slept in a long while, but they seemed to only accentuate the fragile sweetness of the rest of her delicate features. She reminded him very much of Andrea in her early days.

He smiled, thinking Deena's Diner might not be so bad after all. The waitress smiled back tentatively at first, then her smile grew feline and promising as his dark looks and lean body worked their magic. She cocked her slim hips and leaned against the counter, then bent over and pointed to number 3 on the menu, giving him a fine show of a pale, ripe bosom, positioned to the point of near overflow.

"Number 3's my favorite," she offered succinctly.

"Is that so..." he narrowed his eyes at her nametag, "Tracey?"

She actually giggled. "Marty will make you the best burger you ever tasted. I'm serious."