Larger Than Life by Alison Kent (bill gates books recommendations .TXT) 📗

for the e-commerce website on her monitor. "Nice digs."

"We like it. Suits our purpose with the added benefit of tons of personal space." She glanced around as if trying to see what he would see.

All he saw was what she claimed the place to be. At least when he wasn't looking at her, her thick rust-colored hair, the freckles on her cream-colored skin, her body, which was tight and solid and stirred his to life. His throat ached just enough to rough up his voice. "What is your purpose?"

She made her way to the computer station. "I told you. We sell jewelry. Candy's original designs."

He let out a low whistle, not that he knew dick about what he was saying. "Must be working with a hell of a markup. Unless you've got private backers helping to keep this place afloat."

"Actually," she began, and bristled, "we do quite well. Candy's designs are sold in a handful of exclusive galleries across the country. Plus, she does a lot of work on commission. So, no. We don't need patrons backing us. In the past, maybe. But not anymore."

Mick decided to back off, to ask later about how they'd started—and why here of all places. "And you do all the grunt work."

"This summer I have, yeah." She tucked her hands into her jeans pockets. "Except last week with Liberty here. During the school year and especially at the holiday season, I always have one or two kids from the high school working for me."

He supposed it wouldn't be easy for her to hide runaways with part-time help in and out. "What about your law practice?"

"All I do these days are wills, real estate deals, and the occasional breeding contract."

"Legal disbursement of semen." He shook his head. "Sort of takes the fun out of the concept of being a stud."

She laughed, and he swore she blushed, but then she just as quickly sobered. There were so many things he could say, none of which he did. He just leaned back against the shipping counter and let the storm of tension spin. It wasn't a gentle storm, it was fierce and powerful, sucking them in and pulling the air from the room.

He saw it in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, felt it in his own. Breathing that should've come easy took effort, as did staying put. He wanted to hook his good arm around her neck, haul her into his body, snap his fingers and rid them both of their clothes. He wanted to learn her scent, to taste her, to teach her what he liked.

He wanted to do things to her that shocked him, and he saw the mirror of that need in her eyes. He ached with it. He burned. He watched the same fire creep over her skin and color her, unnerve her, reveal all that she was feeling— none of which he was certain she wanted him to know.

And so he searched for his voice, found it, put an end to the flash fire, reducing it to embers with a question. "Why don't you show me what you need done."

"Sure. Okay." Clearing her throat, she walked toward the counter and slapped down the stack of papers she pulled from the workstation's heavy duty printer. "Let me show you how to work these invoices. The shipping labels are on the bottom of each page and are self-adhesive."

"Hmm. Sounds challenging." And not half as fun as what he'd been thinking.

"If Liberty can do it, you can do it."

"Obviously she couldn't, or it would've been done."

Neva pursed her lips. "Let's just say she suffered a lack of motivation."

"Or maybe fear for her life?"

And then she sighed. "I'm sure that was a large part of her distraction. Hindsight and all, I could've been easier on her."

He waited to see if she offered up anything more. When she didn't, he went on. "Hopefully her leaving this job undone wasn't because you didn't show her where and how to pull the items to be shipped."

"Ack, sorry." She grabbed the top invoice and gestured for him to follow her to the wall of cubbyholes. "The item numbers on the invoices correspond to the label beneath each cubby. The pieces have already been placed inside a jewelry box, but open it to make sure you've got a match to the picture printed on the invoice."

She found the item she needed and lifted the top from the box to reveal several colored crystals strung on clear filament and framing a teardrop of hammered silver. "See? Same piece. We're good to go."

"Nice." He fingered the crystals. "Do you photograph the items for the website?"

She shook her head. "Candy shoots them as she's done. We have a program that sizes them automatically and uploads the files. Our tech then makes them live on the site. He's in El Paso."

"Can't get good help in Pit Stop?"

"For ranching, sure. But not for graphics work." She settled the lid back on the box and handed it to him. "Easy enough?"

"I think I can handle it."

"It's not as exciting as hunting mule deer, but it'll keep you busy. And out of trouble," she added, her eyes sparkling.

"Hey," he said, removing his sling. "I'm not the one the sheriff's interested in."

"That's only because I didn't find you on his side of the state line."

The woman didn't give an inch. He wasn't going to get anywhere, find out anything, learn any more about her than he already had. Not at this rate. Under these conditions. "You going to hang around here and supervise?"

She twisted her mouth, screwed it to one side. "I'm trying to decide if it's safe to leave."

"No pockets. No backpack." He turned in a circle. "I'll even let you hang onto the sling if it makes you feel better. 'Course, I could always sneak the pricey pieces out in my pants."

"You sure you have room down there?" she asked, her chin lifting. "Being that you're the size of a horse and all?"

And at