Shamelessly. Forcefully. She was so grateful that she would have done anything right then to make him feel as good as she already did. Before she could sink down onto his thick shaft, he helped her up and wrapped a plush towel around her waist.

The cool air outside the shower rushed over her body, making her shiver as they moved back into the bedroom again. Tyson reached into a bedside table for protection, but she couldn't let him do all the work. It wouldn't be fair. Not after the way he'd given her an all-over, full-contact orgasm in the shower. She dropped her towel to the oak floor and picked up the condom that fell from his fingers to the ground. No one had ever looked at her like that, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His gaze made her feel powerful, bold, and she pushed him down, damp and warm, onto the bed as his huge c**k pulsed toward her again.

"I want to taste you again. But:' she said as she ripped open the condom wrapper, "I need you inside me more:'

He grabbed the rubber from her and slid it on, and then his hands were rough and wonderful as he pulled her on top of him, all the way onto his throbbing shaft. She braced herself with her hands across his chest, just as she had against the tiled shower wall. Feeling wild, free, and so much happier than she could ever remember, she rode Tyson as his hands slid up from her br**sts, tangling in her wet hair. He pulled her mouth down to his, and his kiss robbed whatever breath remained in her lungs. With every passing moment, she fell deeper and deeper into this sexy cowboy who had been a stranger mere hours before.

LATER, IN TYSON'S BED, with his big, strong arms wrapped around her, Carrie's stomach rumbled. His laugh was warm and soft as it reached into her. "How about I make good on that dinner I promised you out in the vineyard?"

Five minutes later she was sitting on his porch, relaxing with that glass of Syrah she'd put aside several hours earlier.

"No surprise, the steaks have burned to an unrecognizable crisp:' Tyson said when he checked the grill. "Why don't you enjoy the wine and the evening for a few minutes while I go scrounge up some more meat?" He disappeared into the kitchen before she could offer to help, and she was glad for a moment alone to think, warm and cozy in one of his flannel work shirts and some seriously baggy jeans.

She had plenty to think about.

A handful of orgasms in her pocket, Carrie found herself with new answers to questions she'd never thought to ask. Yes, she'd known that something had been missing with James, that he could be arrogant and pushy and elitist. But she hadn't thought to question their sex life. She'd figured that coming on a regular basis had meant their sex life was good. How wrong she'd been.

When Tyson so much as stood near her, or gave her that look that promised more pleasure than she could bear, she went up in a mass of flames.

When he kissed her, when he stroked her, when he was in her, she felt complete. Strong. Sexy. But even though her new found sensuality helped her more tightly shut the lid on her relationship with James, it sent her reeling off in a scarier direction. Hadn't she just decided that she was only in the market for a light, sexy fling?

She was already blowing it.

Somehow, some way, she had to protect herself from falling for another man for all the wrong reasons. She certainly wasn't going to deny her lust for Tyson. That would be a joke. But this time, she was going to go out of her way to make sure her head was on straight and her emotions were on hold.

Great sex, she reminded herself firmly, was merely great sex. Even if, in Tyson's case, the term "great" took on a whole new meaning.

Like stupendous. Staggering, even.

"Thinking about world peace?" Tyson teased when he came back outside and threw two more tri-tips on the grill.

Carrie blushed as he slid a delicious-looking feta, walnut, and tomato salad in front of her. If only he knew how far her thoughts were from world peace.

"Something like that," she said, and when she glanced up at him, from ~e laughter in his eyes, she knew he knew.

She'd been thinking about sex. With him.

Her inner hostess got to work making small talk to relieve the sexual tension that hung in the air like a fine mist.

"I know you've heard this a million times already, but this really is an incredible Syrah:'

"Thank you. When you own a winery, you never get tired of hearing that people enjoy your wine. Every vintner worries about someone taking a sip from a new batch and getting that look." "What look would that be?"

He grinned. "The one that says they'd spit it out if they weren't so polite."

"You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head. "Trust me, I'm speaking from painful experience.

"I can't begin to imagine;' she said, sinking back into the cushions, letting the wine flow through her veins, the warm evening breeze carry the bulk of her anxieties away. "It's bad enough when a client doesn't like one of my drawings or thinks I should dig another five-gallon hole to move a mature tree. But at least I haven't spent a year growing grapes for them." "Don't feel too bad for me;' he added as he stood up and flipped the steaks. "I'm doing just fine:'

"I'm amazed that you've done everything organically. Please, tell me more. I've thought about incorporating natural pesticides with my clients, but I'm not sure if it will work for me. Or for them:' "What about the lower profit margins?" he asked, and she wondered at the new edge in his voice.

"I'm not worried about that;' she said, "just whether or not organic methods can really keep the bugs away:' Something that looked like surprise lit his gaze. "It's been working out. I've got better vine strength and soil quality. My grapes are more resistant to hot spells and frost:'

"What about pests, mold, disease?"

"I've seen much less damage on my plants than on neighboring vineyards. Plus, I've been able to use less water. So I spend my time composting and covering crops, not spraying:'

All this talk about composting was making her hot for him again. She'd never thought to find a guy with whom she could make love one moment, then discuss crops the next.

"What about the mustard that grows between vines in the spring?"

"It's all part of what feeds the vines. I've added in some oats, some winter peas to the mix:' She looked at him over the rim of her glass. "Seems to me you've given up most of your secrets tonight. How do you know I'm not going to sell them to the highest bidder?" His eyes shuttered, and she had a feeling that her teasing had been way off the mark. Or, worse, too close to it.

SHE MADE HIM COMFORTABLE. Too comfortable. If he wasn't careful, he'd be baring his soul. No matter how intimate they'd been on the porch, in the shower, in his bed, he needed to remember that she was a society girl from the city who was having fun with a farm boy who'd done good.