Cowboys Make Better Lovers

CHAPTER TWO-2

Sarah's mouth hung open. "Why didn't you tell me this to begin with? Why did you let me go on about the condition of the house when you hadn't even been staying here?" She felt like an i***t.

He walked to the small table, reached for his Stetson and dropped it on his head, looking thoroughly satisfied. "Didn't want to interrupt the roll you were on." Now he was grinning.

Several oaths sat perched on her tongue, but she refused to sound them out loud, as was habit. To this day her father was still emotionally rock-hard and stone-cold. A man who only spoke when necessary, which had usually been to lecture her and Debbie about something they'd done or would surely end up doing. Sarah learned long ago to stay out of trouble and keep her mouth shut, though Mr. Manning was making it extremely difficult.

She watched as he went to the back door, calling for the boys through yet another shredded screen. A moment later Tommy came scampering in, Chris lagged behind, tossing her a hateful look as they sat down at the table and Raif placed their lunch before them.

"Eat up, kids." He ruffled Tommy's hair before directing his attention to Sarah. "Let's go into the living room while the boys eat," he suggested, walking in the said direction.

Sarah followed, grabbing her briefcase as she passed the table, unable to look at the boys as they purposely ignored her. When she entered the living room, the man sitting so casually on the plum-colored sofa immediately snared her gaze, his booted feet propped up on the polished table before him. He'd opened one of the curtains and daylight poured through the dirty windows. Sarah watched as sunshine sliced through the dust spiraling around the room.

"Take a load off," he offered as she stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. With a flick of his wrist he took off his Stetson and tossed it on the table, running a hand through the springy curls on his head.

"Thanks," Sarah muttered, sitting on the opposite couch, wondering what it would be like to feel those curls between her fingers...and her legs. She set her briefcase down on the table and wished she still had that glass of lemonade she'd left in the kitchen as her mouth kept going dry. She blamed it on nerves at being in this uncomfortable situation, denying that a good part of it had to do with Raif Manning.

She watched as he leaned forward, tense again as he said, "Okay, Peaches, this is your show. You've got me in the palm of your pretty little hand right now. I want those kids." His tone was tinged with desperation. "You make the rules and I'll follow them, if that's what'll make you happy. You want me to move the kids out of this place," he lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug, "I'll do it." He leaned back once again, putting one booted foot upon the opposite knee, hands folded in his lap, deceptively serene.

"Don't call me peaches." It was an order, not a request. "And there's no need to go to such extremes." Sarah sat back, gauging what his reaction to her ultimatum would be.

At least the boys were in the next room in case he tried to strangle her with those huge hands of his. She felt her insides drop to her toes, figuring the kids would probably help him out in disposing of her body.

"As I was saying, now that I know you recently purchased this place—why you would do such a thing is a complete mystery to me—I intend to stick around long enough to watch you start to get it in shape and see the quality of care you intend to provide for the children." With her last words, she hiked her chin up a few degrees, feeling very proud of herself for not flinching once during her spiel, especially with the evil look he was giving her. She inwardly shivered, mutely scratching another black mark on Raif Manning's list. Just that look alone deserved at least five!

Mr. Manning got to his feet and strode the short distance over to her. "You've got yourself a deal, only I've got one little stipulation to this plan of yours." A wicked fire lit up his eyes.

Sarah was afraid to ask, so she answered him with a stiff comeback as she looked up at him. "I don't see as how you're in any position to be adding stipulations to my requirements, Mr. Manning. You're the one caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place, if you want to know the truth."

"We either compromise or I toss you out on your ass and I'll see you in court, Peaches," he said tightly between clenched teeth. "Who do you think the judge will give guardianship to?" He bent down, placing his palms flat on the cushions on either side of Sarah, his face mere inches from hers. "Their uncle who's been taking care of them for the past few months, treating them like his own, trying to create a loving environment for them? Or their aunt who's seen them exactly two times in their lives, and who ignored all of my letters and phone calls up until last week?"

Guilt swam through Sarah, and tears burned her throat at his brusque and all-too-true words, but she refused to back down. She lifted a brow and said, "And who do you think the judge will give guardianship to? Their aunt who has a stable life and who will be married come next June, or their uncle, the globetrotter and notorious Casanova?" She saw the look of shock in his eyes before he quickly concealed it and stood upright, thrusting his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

"I see you keep up on the tabloids."

"Please, don't tell me they're all lies. You're well known for your itchy feet and wandering eye. One model on your arm this week, another model the next." Sarah felt a sense of power pump through her blood.

She watched as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and rolled them up three times, revealing muscular forearms. He seemed to be readying himself for a fight. If so, she was dead-meat.

"Oh, they aren't lies," he admitted. "Highly exaggerated, but true to a point."

Sarah batted her eyelashes. "So, you don't date high-school girls, after all?" Her voice was honey-rich and one hundred percent provoking.

He sucked in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring. "Look, we're getting way off the subject here. I said I accepted your ultimatum. All I want to do is add one stipulation to it."

"What is it?" Sarah felt completely deflated and totally adolescent for her outburst. For some odd reason, this man got under her skin. He was too handsome, and she was sure he knew it. She had indeed read every story printed about the man. Though he was touted as the most spectacular photographer of his time, he'd had more women in his past than Don Juan and Valentino combined. Strange as it was, the knowledge burned her up. The kids needed stability, not their uncle bringing in strange women night after night to share his bed, although she hadn't seen a single story in any tabloid or magazine for at least a year or more. Maybe he was simply being more discreet.

"If you're so fired-up about playing social worker then you're going to see firsthand just how the kids and I get along. I want you to stay here." He pointed at the floor.

Sarah gulped. Being here, in this grungy place, with this gorgeous man and three kids? All she wanted to do was get back home to California, to Paul, and settle back down into her everyday routine. "No thanks. I'll stay at a local hotel and pop in every day."

Mr. Manning let out a breath of disgust and took his original spot on the other sofa. He stretched his arms out along the back, the look on his face satisfied. "I knew you couldn't handle it.

"What are you talking about?" Sarah feigned ignorance, sitting forward, hands on her knees.

"You're nothing but a spoiled, pampered brat."

It was Sarah who jumped to her feet this time. "You'd better watch your tongue, Raif Manning!" She shook her finger at him just like Sister Mary Margaret, her 5th grade teacher, used to do whenever Sarah talked back.

"Am I lying?" He stood now, the coffee table separating them. "You'd rather kick back in some fancy hotel with room service than actually have to spend the night in my pig sty. Don't worry, I wouldn't ask you to actually help out with the housework or kids."

Raif took one of her hands looking at the manicure she'd just had days before. "Heaven knows I wouldn't want you to break a nail. I bet that'd ruin your whole week."

"Why you...!" Sarah tried snatching her hand back so she could slap him, but he circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger, preventing her from accomplishing the task.

He skirted the table and stepped toward her. "Prove me wrong then, Sarah." His face was mere inches from hers, his eyes challenging.

Sarah's breath caught in her lungs when he said her name. And the way he'd just spoken the words, not harsh or taunting, but in a low, petal-soft whisper, ignited a spark deep inside her. For a moment, she was lost in those eyes of his. Not the wintry blue of Paul's cool eyes, but jade green eyes with flecks of gold. Wicked eyes. Eyes that made her think of sweaty s*x and erotic fantasies come true.

"All right, Mr. Manning." She managed to find her voice and her senses. He released her wrist and Sarah rubbed it to get the circulation back. "You've got yourself a deal. It's quite obvious you won't be the only one proving yourself here."

His brows rose high. "How's that?"

"You and the children have preconceived notions about me. They think I'm some horrible woman who's come to take them away from you, and you think I'm a spoiled, pampered brat." When he didn't deny the accusations, Sarah's jaw tensed. "Not only will I stay here in your...lovely home, but I will also pitch in with the children and the housework."

Sarah watched as his lips began to twitch and he smothered a grin. "This I've got to see. You're telling me you actually know a thing or two about kids and housekeeping?"

"A thing or two." Sarah's heart thudded at the lie.

He didn't look convinced, but said, "How long you figure you'll be staying?"

"Long enough to help you out, and for myself to be satisfied."

Another grin threatened those sexy lips of his. Sarah's heart beat double-time now. "Don't worry, Peaches, I've never had problems satisfying a woman before. I don't expect this time to be any different."

He deserved a swift kick for that Neanderthal comment, but Sarah felt an infuriating smile creeping over her lips. Had she ever felt so alive and so frustrated before meeting this man? Raif Manning was the monkey wrench in her perfectly running gears. He was the run in her stockings. She had a fiancé to get back to. A wedding to plan. She knew she'd regret accepting his little stipulation, but found herself saying, "Just keep your hands to yourself and we'll do okay, Mr. Manning."

"The name's Raif, and I'll keep my hands anywhere you ask me to."

"Look, Mr. Manning." Sarah was tired, hungry, and her patience wearing thin. "I'll have you know I'm engaged to be married next June, so don't get any wild ideas about turning your charm on and attempting to seduce me into signing those papers. It won't work."

"Don't you worry, Peaches. I prefer my women a tad taller and not quite so feisty." He reached down to the table and put his Stetson on again, tilting it forward so his eyes were shadowed.

"Don't call me peaches." Her words were less harsh than she had aimed for. She couldn't help feeling a little dejected by his comment, but was grateful she wouldn't have to be fighting off his advances while staying here. Not that it would have been a problem in the first place. She was, after all, spoken for by another man. That aside, Raif Manning ticked her off.

"Well then, since that's all out in the air and settled, maybe you'd like to show me where I'll be sleeping for the time being." She rubbed her hands together briskly, trying to look eager, feeling way out of her element. Why did she have to be so stubborn? The kids had a caretaker. She should just sign over the papers and be done with it.

But she couldn't. Deep in her heart she had to be certain Raif was capable of caring for the children. Two older boys were one thing, but what about the baby? Along with this, she felt she had something to prove to Raif Manning, and herself. He viewed her as a woman who couldn't boil water without burning it, much less make it in the real world.

A time or two she'd thought the same about herself. Always having money, never struggling with bills or putting food on the table, never having had a real job because she didn't need to work. Didn't need to clean her house or cook her meals. Still, Sarah Collins never backed down from a challenge, and this would be the biggest and most important she'd ever faced.

She suddenly felt woozy and had a sinking feeling she'd forever regret her decision to stay here. She was sure she could handle hard work and kids—she hoped—it was men she had trouble with. Which is one reason she was marrying Paul. He was reliable and oh, so predictable. Safe.

Like most women, she craved love, commitment, trust. The rest of the world seemed to thrive on one-night stands and casual affairs. Raif Manning was a perfect example of that lifestyle. Paul was as loyal as a man could be. They had been dating a month before he even attempted to kiss her. Half a year before they made love. There hadn't been any fireworks. No rockets had gone off. Sarah was glad of the fact. After her disastrous relationship with Jason, she'd take mutual respect and quiet comfort over wild nights between the sheets. At least with Paul she wouldn’t have to worry about him coming home late every night because he was sleeping with every woman who struck his fancy.

Paul was prompt, courteous, and her father loved him—and his money. She trusted Paul and he trusted her.

But as her blood pulsed quick and strong with every heartbeat at the mere sight of Mr. Manning, she wasn't so sure she could trust herself now.