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scent. Miss Emma was right, he was some hunk of man. And he was going to be all hers.
    â€œI guess we can still be friends,” she said, deliberately ignoring the second half of his question.
    Ry swallowed hard at the feeling of her breasts pressing softly into his back. There was a hint of strain in his voice when he spoke. “I’m glad you’re being so adult about this, Maggie. A lot of women wouldn’t be.”
    â€œWell, sugar,” she said, slipping around to wedge herself between Ry and her dresser. She tilted her head just so and batted her lashes at him in a manner that was patently seductive. “I’m not a lot of women.”
    But you’re a lot of woman,
he thought, fighting back a groan as his palms started to sweat. Her robe had worked loose, and he now had an unobstructed view of her cleavage.
    â€œWe should seal this bargain, don’t you think?” she said, plucking her nail buffer from his fingers and dropping it behind her. “Kiss and make up?”
    â€œA handshake is all you need dealin’ horses,” he said with a nervous laugh. Her belly was pressing softly, provocatively against his hardening groin. He wanted her so badly, he could barely think straight. He had to remember they weren’t alone in the big house, had to remember he couldn’t make love to her until he had a firm handle on his control, or he was liable to ruin his grand plan.
    Maggie slid her arms up around his neck, tingles running through her at the tightening of his heavy muscles. Her voice was low and smooth as she raised on tiptoe and inched her mouth toward his. “We aren’t dealin’ horses, sugar. Besides, what’s a lil’ old kiss between
friends
?”
    The kiss was hot. There was no gradual warming. It was hot from the first. Maggie’s lips coaxed and teased. Her tongue sought and gained entry to Ry’s mouth, then retreated, luring him to sample the sweet delights of hers. He needed no more encouragement. Crushing her in his embrace, he took control of his kiss and lost control of his desire. His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom. There was a clatter of things falling on the dresser as he lifted her against him and slanted his mouth across hers.
    Lack of oxygen was the only thing that saved him from taking her right there on the cluttered dresser. He tore his lips from hers to drag in a ragged breath, and a measure of sanity rushed in with it. He fought off a vague sense of panic and congratulated himself. Why should he feel as if he had been tactically outmaneuvered? He was the one with the plan, and the plan was working.
    Putting an inch of space between them, he shot her a rare grin and said, “Well, that ought to seal the deal. Friends again.”
    Friends indeed, Maggie thought, fighting a smile of smug satisfaction. A man couldn’t kiss like that and be indifferent. Indifference didn’t strain against the front of a man’s jeans. This scheme of hers was going to work out fine. And the beauty of it was Rylan would never figure out he’d been manipulated. Men were so dense about that sort of thing.
    Mischief sparkled in her dark eyes as she caught a whiff of the perfume he’d accidentally sprayed on the front of his denim shirt. She reached for the top button. “Mercy, Rylan, you smell like an Avon Lady. Why don’t you let me take this shirt and wash it for you?”
    Ry caught her hands as the third button and buttonhole parted company and his shirt opened further to reveal a vee of bronze skin thickly carpeted with curling black hair. Maybe his plan was working a little too well. “That’s not necessary.”
    â€œOh, pooh,” Maggie said, trying not to giggle. “It’s no trouble a’tall. Besides, what will the boys in the stable think if you come around smelling like Passion’s Promise?”
    â€œPassion’s Promise?” He scowled. “Hell of a name for