He wore a blue chambray shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans that hugged his backside. The scuffed boots added to the same "cowboy" appeal she’d noted when he’d first walked into her office. She watched the corded muscles of arms and back dance beneath the fabric with each swing of the pitchfork and swallowed the wistful sigh hovering on her lips.

He stopped his chore and leaned against the handle of the pitchfork. "Did you want something?" he asked grumpily, the ever-present frown marring his handsome face.

Boy was that ever a loaded question. A slow smile spread across her face. She wanted a lot of things, but right now, she wanted Sam Winslow. The realization didn’t startle or shame. No matter how ridiculous or foolhardy, she had a serious case of lust close to getting out of control with all the subtly of a runaway freight train.

He carefully leaned the pitchfork against the wall and slowly walked toward her, intent and purpose evident in his chocolate eyes. She should move. Simply walk out of the barn, but she’d tasted his kisses and God help her, she wanted to taste him again. The attraction simmering between them made little sense, but that didn’t still the racing of her heart or his steady stride toward her. And she was getting sick and tired of cold showers and restless nights longing for Sam’s touch.

"Answer me, Rebecca. What do you want?" His voice was deep and husky, and completely intoxicating. He stopped inches away. All she had to do was reach out, slip her arms around his neck and pull him close to find herself in heaven.

I want you.

The words were so simple, yet more difficult to speak than she’d imagined. Having an affair with Sam would be nothing short of emotional suicide. They had nothing in common, other than their daughter. They lived by different rules; hers dictated by the courtroom, his by the land.

He leaned forward, his eyes darkening, causing the blood to race through her veins. Her pulse quickened and her fingers itched to touch him, to trace the outline of those corded muscles, to run her hands over the hard wall of his chest and feel his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"You," she finally whispered. "I want you."

Sam knew hunger when he saw it, and the hunger in Rebecca’s voice mirrored the heat in her eyes. The fire licked at him, teasing him, tempting him, even though he understood the flames would burn him.

Just one taste, he promised himself. Just one brush of her sweet lips. Just one and he’d be satisfied.

He lied.

Heaven help him, regardless of the impending disaster it would surely cause them all, he wanted her with the same kind of hunger shimmering in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"You don’t know what you’re asking," he said, bracing his arms on either side of her and leaning close, trapping her between his body and the bales of straw.

"I think I do," she replied, a wicked gleam in her clear green eyes. She slipped her arms around his neck and applied the slightest amount of pressure. It was all the encouragement he needed.

Before she had time to draw her next breath, he pressed his body into hers and captured her lips in a mind blowing kiss. She responded by pulling him closer. His body hardened instantly. The realization that this was Rebecca, Melanie’s birth mother, did nothing to douse the flames leaping to life between them. This woman had the power to destroy his life, yet he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Fate had brought them together for its own purposes. Who was he to argue with something he couldn’t begin to comprehend?

He skimmed his hand over her hip and down, past those sexy white shorts that showed off her spectacular legs and nearly groaned when he felt her tremble. He cursed the thick denim of his jeans, wanting to feel her skin against his own. He envisioned her silky thighs wrapped around him as they surrendered to the ancient rhythm of man and woman. He wanted to taste every inch of her sweet body and lose himself in her heat. The fact that she wanted the same thing was more powerful than any aphrodisiac known to man.

He slipped his hands down to her bottom, urging them closer together. She whimpered and moved her hips against him, causing him to nearly come out of his skin. What little control he had left was rapidly depleting. He no longer doubted they’d make love, but not here, not in the barn where anyone could walk in and discover them, especially Mel.

Regardless of the pain it cost him, he settled his hands on her hips and gently eased her away from him. When she looked up at him, her eyes filled with longing and desire, his good intentions evaporated.

He kissed her again. Slow and deep. Long and wet.

He heard the shouts of the men coming in from the fields, not sure whether to curse their timing or be grateful. He was behaving like a testosterone overloaded teenager, willing to carry her off to the loft and make love. But when he made love to Rebecca, it wouldn’t be a quick roll in the hay. Oh no, when they made love, he wanted it to be long and slow, and hard and fast, and totally consuming.

He pulled away, shocked by the overwhelming disappointment he felt at the loss of heat.

"Later," he promised, kissing her one last time. "Later, when we won’t be interrupted."

Rebecca nodded, unable to move as Sam strode out of the barn as if he hadn’t just promised to turn her world upside down. Good God, what was she doing? If she’d had the energy, she would have laughed. She knew exactly what she was doing -- making a mistake of epic proportions.

A monumental mistake, but one she would never regret. Whether it made sense or not, she was falling hard for her daughter’s father.