LITMIR.BIZ

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touched her hair.

      Her hair!

      Flattening her palms against her scalp, she groaned. She knew darn well how her hair looked after removing her hat. What in the world was she thinking?

      She wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. This man had her all tied up in knots. She liked living and working at the Desert Rose. Finally she’d found a place where she felt she belonged, where she was truly one of the team. But if anyone walked in and found them, in a second it could all be over.

      Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her hands away from her head. “Why do you hide?” he asked, rubbing some strands of hair between his fingers. “Your hair is the color of honey. It could be very beautiful.”

      She didn’t miss the “could be.” In a last-ditch effort not to look like a total hag, she fluffed out her bangs, ran her fingers through the crown as she took a couple of steps back.

      “I still don’t know what to call you,” she mumbled.

      He stared at her in that intense way she found so fascinating. As if no one else existed in the entire state of Texas. “Sharif.”

      “Is that your first name?”

      He nodded and reached for her hair again.

      She ducked and patted it down. What in the heck did he find so interesting about a ratty clump of squashed hair? Given the chance, she’d trade her new pocketknife for a mirror about now. “Does everyone call you Sharif? Or do you have a nickname?”

      He frowned and absently scratched his chest, a movement she found so ridiculously exciting that she had to take a deep breath. “Why do you Americans have this obsession with nicknames? Is it not enough to be called the name given you by your mother?”

      She made a face. “Sometimes a shorter name sounds more friendly, I suppose.”

      “Your mother, did she call you Livy?”

      “I don’t have a mother.”

      His eyebrows drew together. “Everyone has a mother.”

      “Not if she gives you away.” Livy blinked at how pathetic she sounded. She really hadn’t meant to, she was more concerned with the way he was inching closer again. But her words stopped him.

      “And your father?”

      “I have to get back to work now.” She rubbed her palms down the front of her jeans and moved toward the door.

      “Olivia? Your hat.”

      The way he said her name with a slight accent made her shiver, and she seriously thought about forgetting the Stetson. Especially when she turned around and saw the play of muscles across his tanned back as he bent to pick it up.

      “Uh, thanks.” She tried to grab the hat when he held it up to her, but he kept it a few inches out of reach. “That isn’t very gentlemanly.”

      His eyebrows rose in phony surprise. “Did I claim to be a gentleman?” Smugness lifted his lips in a half smile. “One kiss, for one hat.”

      “Talk about obsessions. What’s with you and kissing?”

      “Ah, you do not like the sport.”

      Her mouth dropped open. “Sport?” She threw up her hands. “That’s the problem with guys like you. You think…you think…kissing is a…is a sport. No thanks.”

      Great. Now she was a liar and unoriginal. Because, despite her words to the contrary, she very much wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to feel breathless, and get that squishy feeling again that made her insides turn into Jell-O.

      “We have known each other for only twenty minutes.” He slid the rim of her hat between two fingers in an unhurried, annoying fashion. “What would you call it?”

      The truth stung. She held out her hand. “Give me the hat.”

      He smiled. “I had forgotten how interesting you Americans can be. In my country, the women do not play these games.”

      “Do they have a choice?”

      His expression tightened. “How much do you know about my country? Are you that wise in other cultures?”

      Livy grimaced. Apart from the fact she had no idea where Sharif was actually from, she sure as heck didn’t know much about geography or other countries, period. She’d only squeaked her way through school because Father Mike would have tarred and feathered her if she hadn’t. Riding horses had been a much preferable pastime.

      Remembering how his servant dressed like something out of the movies, she said, “I bet you have a harem.”

      His eyes darkened, and his voice was low and edgy. “I force no one. Women come to me freely.”

      “You do have a harem?” She’d spoken impulsively, not truly believing such a thing existed, but from the look on his face…“Holy cow! You are something else.”

      “And you have a very vivid imagination.”

      “Which is about to leak out without my hat on. Hand it over.”

      “You know the terms.” He dangled it just out of reach.

      “I thought you didn’t have to force women.”

      “Do you truly feel coerced?” He was looking at her like that again, studying her face with an eerie single-mindedness, lingering on her lips as if she was some kind of dessert.

      And like a darn fool, her entire body was getting all feeble again. “I think I’ll call you Shay. I went to school with a kid named Shay and he was a royal pain, too.” She chuckled at her little joke. He didn’t. “It’s close enough to Sharif.”

      Just as she’d hoped, he forgot all about the hat and scowled at her. “I forbid you to call me by that name.”

      “Really?” She jumped up and snatched the Stetson out of his hand. “Thank you very much,” she said with a sarcastic grin, while walking backward away from him. “Shay.”

      If she’d only kept the taunt to herself she probably could have made it out of the barn. But her hesitation allowed him to lunge forward and grab her around the waist. She dropped the hat, lost her footing and they both tumbled to the ground.

      She scrambled to keep from being pinned beneath him, but she wasn’t quick enough. “Get off. You’re squashing the life out of my windpipe.”

      That wasn’t all. Her breasts were crushed against his shoulder, and the really scary part was she kind of liked it.

      He eased up, and just when she thought he was going to let her go, he repositioned himself, straddling her, keeping her back flat to the ground. His fingers locked around her wrists as he stared down at her with a triumphant smile.

      “What did you call me?” The slight cocky lift of his left eyebrow made her see red.

      She glared back at him, weighing the use of a threat against indifference. Except she was far too aware of the strength in his thighs pressing against her hips, and she couldn’t think all that straight.

      “This is very undignified, Your Highness,” she finally said, and was pleased to see his jaw clench.

      “True,” he said, with a slight shift of his hips. “But quite pleasant.”

      Boy, howdy. She swallowed. This was so unreal. Not a blessed guy she knew would ever think of manhandling her this way. “Aren’t you afraid your flunky will come in here and find you bullying me?”

      “If you really wanted to end this, you would simply call me Sharif.”

      The truth brought a wave of realization and shame that made Livy’s cheeks burn. “Sharif,” she quickly murmured.

      But it was too late. He knew she’d enjoyed his attention, the brief taboo run on the wild side. His

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