Read Online Captured by Time by Carolyn Faulkner, Alta Hensley - Free Book Online
Authors: Carolyn Faulkner, Alta Hensley
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when it never had before?
Chapter Seven
"Well, I guess that's good, considering what we did last night." He regretted it as soon as he said it, but he couldn't take it back. Her face immediately became shuttered, those bright eyes dimmed, and as she hugged herself for warmth, she avoided looking at him, and that was the last thing he wanted. She was the strangest, most intriguing woman he'd ever met, and he wanted more of her, not less. And as he watched her more closely than he had before, he noticed that she was shaking.
Without another word, he stalked over to the bed where she was sitting, grabbed a hold of the edge of it and dragged it over to sit in front of the fire, then reached into the saddle bag that had yet to be opened and pulled out a blanket, forcibly wrapping her up in it and hauling her down on the bed, molding her to him spoon fashion, with her closest to the fire.
She shot back up as if she was on a spring, and he put her back in her place each time, but on the third instance, his patience—for which he had never really been known—had reached its end.
"Cimmy stop. It's cold, and you are shaking. Stop being so stubborn," he warned. He hoped his stern voice was enough to stop her actions. He wasn't about to let her suffer the cold and be miserable all because she was too stubborn to admit she needed his warmth.
"I'm fine."
"Cimmy." He wasn't going to play this battle of wills. He wasn't one to know a lot about women, but he knew enough to know this was one of the games some played.
"I'm not cold." Her body still trembled, but not as much, since the fire clearly was working its magic.
"I don't appreciate being lied to." He tightened his grip on her when she tried to stand, preventing her from doing so.
"And I don't appreciate you being a bossy ass. I'm a grown woman and can do what I want, damn it, cold or not."
It was laughably easy to push her onto her stomach, then reach down and lift both the hem of her robe and the blanket, pulling them up over her head.
"Stop! What are you doing?" she screeched.
"I don't know where exactly you come from, but you do not have the mouth of a true lady. I will not tolerate it."
He hadn't realized that she'd reclaimed those ridiculous looking little bloomers of hers, but he dispensed with them easily too, ripping them off her in seconds and throwing them across the room just before one hand descended on the back of her neck, holding her in place as the other hand unerringly found cheeks that were still a bit pink. Was that from her spanking during their night together, or from the glow of the fire? He didn't know, and he didn't much care.
"Who do you think you are? Who are you to say how I speak?" She struggled with all her might, but it took little effort on his part to continue restraining her.
"That, little one, you are about to find out." Besides intriguing and interesting, she was also one of the most headstrong, most stubborn females he'd ever encountered, and if he was truthful with himself, which he was only sometimes of late, he would admit that he would love to spend some time—perhaps even the rest of his life—taming her to his hand; so that when he put her somewhere, she stayed there, or when he told her to do something, she did it immediately and without question.
"You let go of me this instant!"
"As long as you are under my roof. And for now, this cabin serves as that. You belong to me. No woman of mine will talk to me with such disrespect." He punctuated his words with a loud swat to her bare behind, and then another for good measure.
"I'm not some whore that can be owned," she bit back.
"Exactly!" Swat, swat, swat . "You are not a whore. You are a lady and should act as such. And since you clearly have forgotten how a lady acts, I will take it upon myself to remind you."
Damn, he would enjoy that enormously! He could imagine that, with her, for what would remain the rest of their lives. It would be quite a
Chapter Seven
"Well, I guess that's good, considering what we did last night." He regretted it as soon as he said it, but he couldn't take it back. Her face immediately became shuttered, those bright eyes dimmed, and as she hugged herself for warmth, she avoided looking at him, and that was the last thing he wanted. She was the strangest, most intriguing woman he'd ever met, and he wanted more of her, not less. And as he watched her more closely than he had before, he noticed that she was shaking.
Without another word, he stalked over to the bed where she was sitting, grabbed a hold of the edge of it and dragged it over to sit in front of the fire, then reached into the saddle bag that had yet to be opened and pulled out a blanket, forcibly wrapping her up in it and hauling her down on the bed, molding her to him spoon fashion, with her closest to the fire.
She shot back up as if she was on a spring, and he put her back in her place each time, but on the third instance, his patience—for which he had never really been known—had reached its end.
"Cimmy stop. It's cold, and you are shaking. Stop being so stubborn," he warned. He hoped his stern voice was enough to stop her actions. He wasn't about to let her suffer the cold and be miserable all because she was too stubborn to admit she needed his warmth.
"I'm fine."
"Cimmy." He wasn't going to play this battle of wills. He wasn't one to know a lot about women, but he knew enough to know this was one of the games some played.
"I'm not cold." Her body still trembled, but not as much, since the fire clearly was working its magic.
"I don't appreciate being lied to." He tightened his grip on her when she tried to stand, preventing her from doing so.
"And I don't appreciate you being a bossy ass. I'm a grown woman and can do what I want, damn it, cold or not."
It was laughably easy to push her onto her stomach, then reach down and lift both the hem of her robe and the blanket, pulling them up over her head.
"Stop! What are you doing?" she screeched.
"I don't know where exactly you come from, but you do not have the mouth of a true lady. I will not tolerate it."
He hadn't realized that she'd reclaimed those ridiculous looking little bloomers of hers, but he dispensed with them easily too, ripping them off her in seconds and throwing them across the room just before one hand descended on the back of her neck, holding her in place as the other hand unerringly found cheeks that were still a bit pink. Was that from her spanking during their night together, or from the glow of the fire? He didn't know, and he didn't much care.
"Who do you think you are? Who are you to say how I speak?" She struggled with all her might, but it took little effort on his part to continue restraining her.
"That, little one, you are about to find out." Besides intriguing and interesting, she was also one of the most headstrong, most stubborn females he'd ever encountered, and if he was truthful with himself, which he was only sometimes of late, he would admit that he would love to spend some time—perhaps even the rest of his life—taming her to his hand; so that when he put her somewhere, she stayed there, or when he told her to do something, she did it immediately and without question.
"You let go of me this instant!"
"As long as you are under my roof. And for now, this cabin serves as that. You belong to me. No woman of mine will talk to me with such disrespect." He punctuated his words with a loud swat to her bare behind, and then another for good measure.
"I'm not some whore that can be owned," she bit back.
"Exactly!" Swat, swat, swat . "You are not a whore. You are a lady and should act as such. And since you clearly have forgotten how a lady acts, I will take it upon myself to remind you."
Damn, he would enjoy that enormously! He could imagine that, with her, for what would remain the rest of their lives. It would be quite a
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