Three Kisses by Cait London

Author:Cait London
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1998-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

“You’re drooling, Sergei,” Cloe murmured with a smile as the photographer stared at Josy, his long, elegant hands locked on the corral board, his rangy body taut. Max leaned heavily against Cloe, angling his head for her to scratch his ears. The first week of June spread around them, green fields in the valley, horses and cattle grazing peacefully. The catalog could be late to press, but experienced with tight deadlines, Sergei was prepared to make up lost time.

The summer wind tangled in Sergei’s mop of black curls, lifting them out and away from his face, his almond-shaped black eyes focused on the woman inside the corral. Josy was swearing, sweat gleaming on her bare arms and dampening her T-shirt, her long, lean body taut, both hands locked to the lead halter around the colt’s head. She was covered in dust and manure, and spitting mad.

“She is beautiful, this Josy. See how the sun lays gold on her skin?” Sergei stated roughly, his gaze pinned on the woman who had just slapped her western hat against her tight dirty jeans and cursed.

“She’s sweating, Sergei. Tell her that she’s beautiful and you’ll find yourself on your expensive silk backside,” Cloe murmured, before calling to Josy.

Josy’s short, glossy black hair clung to her sweaty face; frustrated by the colt, she snarled at Cloe with all the warmth of a yard dog, ripped off her leather gloves, tucked them in her belt, and scowled at Sergei through the corral boards, looking him up and down. Clearly Josy’s sweet temperament had fled as she glared at the colt. “Who’s this?”

“This is Sergei—” Cloe began.

Sergei gracefully hiked up to the top board and leaped down beside Josy. Josy slowly studied his loose, stylish city clothes, silk shirt and dress slacks, the mop of black, spiraling curls blowing in the dry Wyoming wind. “The photographer who wants to experience the West? Soft hands, wearing perfume, and about as useful as a tit on a boar.”

Sergei swept her hand into his and lifted the back to his lips, kissing it in a courtly style. “At your service, my beautiful lily, my dove.”

He drew her hand to his chest. “This expression, ‘tit on a boar,’ makes erotic image in my brain. This for a man, a woman’s mouth upon him, is very good.”

For a moment Josy gaped; in the next, she jerked back her hand. “I am not your anything, got it? Cloe, he’s wearing an earring. How’s that going to look to the old timers around here—Small Bird Ranch with a gypsy?”

“I could tell your fortune,” Sergei murmured in a sexy drawl and toyed with a spiking strand of Josy’s sleek black hair.

She stared at Sergei, who was openly appraising her lean curves. Josy narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. “What are you looking at?”

“I am thinking about sex with you and how good it will be,” Sergei said softly, firmly, seriously as he considered her mouth, and his gaze slid down to study her chest. “Will you give milk to my children with your lovely breasts?”

Josy’s mouth dropped open.

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