“I’ve heard they’re intelligent, but that’s about all I know. Aren’t they smarter than most dogs?”

  “They are, and I like that they have brains. I might have to keep these two instead of finding new homes for them.”

  Regan opened his mouth to say that more pigs would be coming because the word was out. She’d have to make sure she didn’t bond with the next one, and the one after that, or she’d be overrun with pigs. Then he closed his mouth again.

  If she wanted to keep twenty pigs, it wasn’t the same as twenty horses. When the fence crew finally arrived, she could decide if she wanted an enclosure for her current potbellied friends and those who were sure to come later.

  “You’re worried that I’m going to load up on pigs the way I loaded up on horses and get myself into more trouble, aren’t you?”

  “Nope.”

  She laughed. “Liar.”

  “I do think you’ll get more pigs, though. The guy who brought Harley heard about you from the people who had Wilbur. I don’t know if there’s a potbellied-pig hotline, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I’m sure there is. I’ve thought about joining a potbellied-pig chat group, but I haven’t had time. Maybe once I reduce the number of horses, I can hook up with other people who have pigs. These guys fascinate me. They’re so different from your average domestic animal.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Some people let them in the house, but I’m not ready to—whoops. There goes Harley after Wilbur’s food.” Lily hurried over and blocked Harley’s progress. He let out an ear-splitting scream of frustration and plowed past her, knocking her smack-dab into the mud hole.

  Without thinking twice, Regan waded in after her.

  “Forget about me!” she wailed. “Pick up Wilbur’s food bowl!”

  “To hell with Wilbur’s food bowl.” He extended his hand. “Grab hold.”

  Harley had shoved Wilbur aside and was eagerly crunching on the remainder of the smaller pig’s food. “I guess it’s too late to get the food, anyway,” she said. “He might try to bite you.”

  “Might? Did you hear him? I don’t think there’s any doubt he’d bite me.” Harley wasn’t the least bit cute anymore, either. Lily, on the other hand, was very cute sitting in the mud, her face and clothes splattered with globs of the stuff. He had a sudden image of her as a teenager in an old T-shirt and jeans with the knees busted out. In fact, she didn’t look much older than sixteen now.

  But the water and mud had begun to soak through her shirt. Very soon she’d go from cute to voluptuous, and that wouldn’t be a good thing for a guy trying to keep his mind off sex. He wiggled his fingers. “Come on. Let’s get you outta there.”

  With a sigh of resignation, she reached for his hand. “I’m all muddy.”

  “Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Smart-ass. The sad thing is, your boots and the bottom of your jeans are muddy, too.”

  “That’s the breaks.” She was slippery now, and he had trouble getting a grip on her. “Better give me both hands so I don’t drop you back in the water.”

  He pulled, and she came out with a giant sucking sound, and way faster than he’d expected. Before he could adjust for her trajectory, she’d slammed into his chest. Good thing he’d dug in his heels before starting this maneuver or they would have both gone down. Instead they were plastered together like sheets of wet newspaper. He wrapped his arms around her to steady himself and discovered he was enjoying it far too much.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.” She tried to extricate herself.

  Thrown off balance by her movements, he wobbled. “Careful. I don’t have the best of footing. We’re teetering.”

  She stood still. “Yeah, no point in making this any worse than it already is.” She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. She must have seen something more than simple concern there, because her breath hitched. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

  “With caution.” His pulse rate skyrocketed. So she’d guessed that he wanted to kiss her, mud specks and all. If she didn’t want him to, he’d see it in her expression—a slight frown, a subtle narrowing of her eyes.

  But she wasn’t doing either of those things. Instead her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. “I absolutely agree.” She ran her tongue over her lips, not in a seductive way, but quickly, as if checking for mud in case he decided to follow through.

  “About what?” He’d lost track of the conversation. All his attention was focused on her plump lips, which were shiny from her tongue.

  “Caution. Proceeding with it.”

  “You want to proceed?”

  “I do.” Her eyes darkened to midnight blue and her gentle sigh was filled to the brim with surrender as her arms slid around his neck, depositing mud along the way.

  As if he gave a damn. His body hummed with anticipation. “Me, too.” Slowly he lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  “Mistake, though.”

  He hovered near her mouth, hardly daring to breathe. Had she changed her mind at the last minute? “Why?”

  “Tell you later.” She brought his head down and made the connection.

  And it was as electric as he’d imagined. His blood fizzed as it raced through his body and eventually settled in his groin. Her lips fit perfectly against his from the first moment of contact. It seemed his mouth had been created for kissing Lily, and vice versa.

  He tried a different angle, just to test that theory. Still perfect, still high voltage. Since they were standing in water, it was a wonder they didn’t short out. He couldn’t speak for her, but he’d bet he was glowing. His skin was hot enough to send off sparks.

  She moaned and pressed her body closer. She felt amazing in his arms—soft, wet and slippery. He’d never imagined doing it in the mud, but suddenly that seemed like the best idea in the world.

  Then she snorted. Odd. Not the reaction he would have expected considering where this seemed to be heading.

  He lifted his head and gazed into her flushed face. “Did you just laugh?”

  She regarded him with passion-filled eyes. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Then who—”

  The snort came again as something bumped the back of his knees. A heavy splash sent water up the back of his legs.

  She might not have been laughing before, but she was now. “Um, we have company.”

  Although it didn’t matter which pig had interrupted the moment, Regan had his money on Harley. Whichever one had decided to take an after-dinner mud bath, they’d ruined what had been a very promising kiss. Well, except for Lily’s comment that it was a mistake.

  Regan had hoped to move right past that comment, but he had a feeling she’d want to explain it more fully now that they weren’t in a lip-lock. He knew one thing for sure, though. He was no longer a fan of those pigs.

  5

  LILY AND REGAN took off their muddy boots on the stoop outside the back door, which led directly into the kitchen. Once they were both inside, she grabbed some paper towels so they could clean off their hands. “Stay there for a sec.” She finished wiping her hands. “I’ll be right back with a robe for you.”

  She left the kitchen, hurried away from him through the small dining room and down a short hallway to the master bedroom and bath. She didn’t want to discuss their kiss until they’d dealt with the mud.

  She needed to tell him why the kiss had been a mistake, and therein lay her dilemma. She’d promised Nick she wouldn’t mention Regan’s breakup. Yet the breakup was at the heart of why she and Regan shouldn’t become involved.

  A brief period of insanity in a mud hole didn’t have to turn into a full-blown disaster if she played this right. She’d lost focus when she’d inadvertently ended up in his arms, but she could make that momentary slip right. To fix it permanently, though, she had to explain how she felt about catching a guy on the rebound. That meant unearthing the truth about his situation...somehow, without involving Nick in any way.

  Snatching her white terry robe from the hook on the back of her bathroom door, she returned to the kitchen. “This won’t fit very well,” she said as she handed him the robe, “but at least it’s not pink.”

  He took it gingerly, being careful not to let it brush up against his muddy clothes. “I’m afraid I’ll bust out your shoulder seams.”

  “It’s roomier than it looks. And it’s all I have for you to wear while I wash and dry your stuff. Just try it. I think you’ll be surprised.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “This whole evening has been one big surprise. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

  She decided not to touch that line. “The guest room is through the living room and down the hall on your right. There’s a bathroom down there, too, and it’s stocked with towels and stuff.”

  “Because your mom insisted.”

  “Yep. Turns out you’re my first guest.”

  “I’m honored.” He gave her an assessing glance. “Listen, are we going to talk about...”

  “Sure. Absolutely. But let’s get cleaned up, first. The lasagna is almost done.”

  “I figured. It smells great.”

  “I’ll meet you back here in a little while. You should find everything you need. My mom’s thorough about such things.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be fine. See you in a few.” Dangling the robe several inches in front of his body, he left the kitchen.

  She retreated to her own bathroom. Moments later she stood under a hot shower and evaluated her predicament. She’d brought it on herself, every bit of it. Her decision to buy Peaceful Kingdom had caused her to add more horses, two pigs and nine chickens. And she’d let them all roam at will. As if she hadn’t created a big enough mess, she’d begged Regan to spend the next couple of nights in her house.

  She’d had some room to maneuver...until she’d kissed him. She couldn’t even claim that was his fault. He’d given her every opportunity to back out, but once she’d been chest to chest with all that glorious male beauty, she hadn’t been able to resist him.

  She could have stopped him at the very last minute, but what had she done? Pulled his head down and kissed the living daylights out of him, that’s what. She was not what anyone would call a clutch player.

  So now she had to clean up this fuster-cluck. Sending him home wasn’t a solution, because sure as the world, she’d have an emergency and he’d end up back here, anyway. She was sitting on a keg of dynamite in more ways than one. Even her pigs weren’t behaving themselves. Until she could get someone to build some sturdy fences, she needed Regan around.

  That would work out just ducky if she could keep her hands to herself. He wasn’t a Don Juan type who was plotting a seduction. If she set the boundaries, he’d abide by them. But she’d kissed him as if boundaries meant nothing. How to explain why she didn’t want to continue with an activity she’d so obviously enjoyed?

  Only one strategy occurred to her. If she could loosen his tongue so that he’d tell her about the breakup, she could explain why she chose to stay away from rebound relationships. She could say she’d sensed he might be hurting but hadn’t wanted to pry. He might buy that.

  It wasn’t the greatest plan in the world, but she couldn’t think of anything better. She had both beer and wine chilling in the refrigerator. The trick would be getting him to drink it while she only sipped.

  Her bathroom routine took longer than she would have liked, but she’d had to wash her hair, and that meant doing something with it afterward. Blowing it dry would take forever, so she gathered it into a loose, damp arrangement on top of her head.

  Leaving makeup off was a no-brainer. She wasn’t trying to be more alluring, for crying out loud. Some old underwear might keep her from getting frisky.

  Oh, hell, whom was she kidding? She’d never been the type to fuss with her appearance. She was strictly WYSIWYG—What You See Is What You Get. But if she didn’t look sexy, that might make a difference to Regan. She put on her most raggedy sweatpants and a faded sweatshirt from Berkeley.

  One glance in the mirror convinced her she’d done an awesome job. Only a desperate man would want to hit that. Of course, if Regan had gone without for six months, he might be on the desperate side. That also should be a warning to stay clear. He might not be hot for her, specifically. Maybe any reasonably good-looking woman would do.

  After shoving her feet into some ratty slippers that once had been blue but had faded to a mottled gray, she padded into the aromatic kitchen with her armload of muddy clothes. Regan was nowhere in sight, so she carried her bundle into the laundry room located right off the kitchen and loaded the filthy clothes and some soap into the washing machine. Technically they shouldn’t all be washed together, but mud was a game changer, in her opinion. Once he arrived with his clothes, they’d do a load of mud laundry and call it good.

  “Here’s my stuff.”

  She turned, and much as she tried not to, she stared. No woman with a pulse would have done any different when faced with Regan O’Connelli in an undersize bathrobe. He stretched the shoulders of that white terry to the breaking point, and the lapels didn’t quite meet, so a sliver of his chest, complete with enticing dark hair, peeked through the opening.

  He’d belted the robe as tightly as possible. Because he had narrow hips, the overlap was more than adequate there. Good thing, if he’d included his briefs in that pile he’d brought her. Although, in the long run, whether he was covered up didn’t matter much. She still knew he likely was naked under that robe. How had she failed to calculate the effect of that on her little plan?

  She accepted the clothes and shoved them in the washer. If he had any loose change or important pieces of paper in his pockets, oh, well. She wasn’t taking the time to check. Her primary goal was to get everything washed and back on his body. His muscled, golden-skinned, infinitely lickable body...

  Dear Lord, she was done for. Turning away from the washer, she dusted her hands together. “There. That’s done.”

  “Lily?”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t turn it on.”

  No, I didn’t, because I’m already turned on enough for both me and the washer to operate at top speed. “Thanks.” She walked back and punched the button.

  “You were right.” He held out his arms. “This fits better than I thought it would.”

  “So it does.” She spun on her heel, because if she looked at him for even one second longer, she’d grab the sash of that robe and have her way with him. “Let’s eat.”

  “Sounds good. I’m starving.” He followed her into the kitchen.

  She could swear, even though he was a good ten feet away from her, she heard every breath he took. She imagined what it would be like to run her fingers through his still-damp hair, to lay her palm against his chest and feel his heart pumping hot blood through his veins. Despite the spicy aroma of baked lasagna, she could smell the soap-fresh scent of his skin, and the underlying musk of virile, almost-naked male.

  Her plan for resisting him seemed flimsy at best, but she’d stick to it as well as she could. “Which would you like with dinner, wine or beer?”

  “With lasagna? Wine, I guess.”

  “Wine it is, then!” She knew she sounded deranged. Grabbing two wineglasses out of the cupboard, she took the Chardonnay out of the fridge.

  “Let me open it.” He walked over to the counter. “Got a corkscrew somewhere?”

  “You bet. Second drawer from the left.” She snatched up a couple of pot holders and made a beeline for the oven, which put some distance between her and Mr. Yum-Yum. If she’d had anything else to cover his body besides the terry robe, she’d be hauling it out now. There was the Hawaiian muumuu her mother had brought her from a trip to Maui a few years ago. Regan probably wouldn’t go for that.

  She pulled the lasagna pan out of the oven and managed to set it on top of the stove without dropping it. That was a little miracle in itself, considering how her hands were shaking.

  “Wine?”

  “Oh!” She turned to find him right next to her, a glass of Chardonnay extended. “Sure. Thanks.” She accepted the glass and promptly gulped down a third of it before she remembered that hadn’t been the strategy. But Regan O’Connelli was standing in her kitchen, naked except for a bathrobe that could come open at any moment. How could she be expected to keep her cool under those circumstances?

  “Can I set the table?”

  “Good idea.” And it would get him out of the kitchen for a little while. “Utensils are in the first drawer from the left. You’re a terrific guest. Somebody must have trained you well.” No telling why she’d been compelled to say that, except that she tended to babble when she was nervous.

  “My ex. I think she’d memorized the etiquette books.”

  Lily went completely still. Damn. A clue. Without getting him sloshed, she’d managed to extract a significant clue. But she had to handle the information with great delicacy. “You have an ex?” She hoped her nose wouldn’t grow for that whopper.

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  Beep. Wrong answer. She closed her eyes in frustration. “I suppose so. I have an ex-boyfriend. What sort of ex do you have?” She crossed her fingers.

  “Ex-fiancée.”

  “Ah. Recent?” She held her breath.

  “Since last Christmas.”

  “Ouch. Tough time to break up.”

  He walked back, leaned in the archway separating the kitchen from the dining room and sipped his wine. “Is there ever a good time?”

  “Guess not.” Her heart ached for him. Nobody should be betrayed at Christmas, when everyone else was laughing and partying and kissing under the mistletoe. But he hadn’t said his ex had betrayed him, only that they’d broken up. Lily vowed to remember that she was supposed to know only what he’d told her and nothing more.

  She had enough information to make her case against sleeping with a guy on the rebound. Once they got into a discussion about the kiss they’d shared while standing in the mud hole, she’d be ready with her argument. She’d apologize for surrendering to the moment.