Page 15 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
She lowered herself to the bench and picked up her coffee, her eyes once again on the children outside—those stunning green eyes.
“How long were you and Eric married?” The question was blunt, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know more about her.
She nearly dropped her coffee mug to the table, the liquid sloshing over the rim and onto her hand. She drew in a hissing breath, likely from the coffee burning her skin. She immediately lifted her hand to her lips and pressed the affected area to her mouth.
Her lips and mouth on her skin.
That same heat as before shot through him—the heat that pumped his blood with need he hadn’t experienced in far too long.
It was wrong to think of wanting her. She was his brother’s widow—a brother who’d been deceased for only a week. Even so, Franz’s attraction to her went beyond rationalization. And yes, he prided himself on being a rational man.
He was logical, using both deductive and inductive reasoning to make arguments, using syllogisms to make inferences, and using mathematical equations and symbols to prove theories. He was thorough and analytical. And he had several degrees and could teach on just about any subject.
But at this moment, with this woman, everything he’d ever learned and known seemed to abandon him, leaving his mind empty of all coherent thoughts.
As she lowered her hand and he glimpsed the red burnt spot on her skin, he silently cursed himself. Hastily he pushed back from the table and rose. He stalked over to the side table, where she’d left a pitcher of water. He grabbed the closest rag, poured water onto it, and then returned to the table.
“Here.” He reached for her hand.
She hesitated, keeping her gaze averted from his.
“Please.” He gentled his tone.
She held it out.
As he touched her hand, his pulse raced forward erratically. Why was he having this kind of reaction to her? He didn’t know her, had just met her, and shouldn’t be so attracted to her already. But he was. There was no denying it.
Was this what love at first sight felt like? He’d never believed in it—thought it was for fairy tales. Yes, a person could feel attraction right away. But not love. Not with someone they didn’t know.
But had he been wrong?
Eric had claimed his attraction to Luisa had been strong and instantaneous, and Franz had scoffed at him. What if Eric really had felt a magnetism?
It didn’t excuse the cheating and everything that had happened, but maybe Eric and Luisa had experienced more chemistry together than Franz had realized was conceivable because he’d never felt it before... until now.
He placed the cold, wet rag on Clarabelle’s red skin. “That should help.”
“Thank you.” She reached for the rag, as though intending to take it from him and hold it on her own.
But he didn’t relinquish it, wasn’t ready to let go yet.
He stood beside her, slightly above her, close enough that every detail of her face, including the smudge of dirt on her chin, was visible. He had an overwhelming urge to lift his thumb and wipe it off, not because he didn’t like it there but simply because he wanted an excuse to touch her face.
Her lashes were long and lowered halfway, shielding her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but then bit down on her bottom lip.
His sights locked in on that lip, fuller than the top one. And he had the sudden image of taking that lip between his and nibbling it for himself.
She peeked up at him, almost as if she’d heard his thoughts, then immediately dropped her attention back to the rag he was holding against her burn. Were her cheeks flushing just a little? Was she feeling this attraction too?
More than just kissing her, he wanted to get to know her. Would it be too forward of him to ask if he could spend the rest of the day here with her?
Yes, it would, especially so soon after Eric’s death. He’d have to give her time before he made any overtures. What would be appropriate for a grieving widow? A month?
She began to tug her hand back. “I think I’m all right.”
He didn’t want to release her, but holding on longer at this point would make him look desperate and maybe even deranged—if she didn’t already think that about him.
He lifted the rag away but didn’t move back.
