breathing slow and deep, and didn’t move a muscle beyond slitting his eyes open. Years of keeping one eye on his back while hunting vicious criminals had honed his peripheral vision. He stretched it to his full capabilities now, expecting to see a sleeping Maggie putting lie to his paranoia.
Instead, he found her awake and watching him with the wide, frightened eyes of a jackrabbit. She had one hand free and was picking away at the length of rope that connected her to his gun belt.
He snatched her by the forearm. “Haven’t we been through this?”
She squeaked. Panic flashed over her face. Her toe connected with his hipbone, awfully close to his nearest and dearest. He grunted and flinched. Leave it to Maggie to take advantage—she yanked free at the same time she planted another kick in his ribs.
“Goddamn it,” he roared.
She scrambled away on her knees, but got tangled in the blankets as she tried to push to her feet. He rolled over, seized hold of her hips and pulled her flat with an oomph .
That didn’t stop her though. She did her damnedest to claw out his eyes.
He snatched her wrists and pressed them together. He jerked her arms up over her head, and over the curve of the saddle, the better to put them out of her use.
Her tight body stretched beneath him, ripe for the plucking. The last time he’d been in such an intimate position with a woman, face to face and so near he could smell her sweet breath wash over his mouth, it had been Annie. But he’d never been tempted to fuck Annie into submission like he was this little hellcat. His marriage had been about love and respect, not this angry, snarling lust that reared its head at the most inopportune moments.
Exhaustion trod over him like a weary horse. The fool woman kept fighting him, losing and coming back for more anyway. He remembered the way she’d stilled in the hotel room when she’d feared he was about to touch her bosom. It had been so many years since anyone had called Dean a gentleman; he wasn’t afraid of fighting dirty.
His mouth slanted over hers and he took . Took her lips, took her tongue, took her aggression. She tasted like fury, sweet and sharp at the same time, and—way down underneath—innocence. He poured in every bit of frustration he’d felt with her for tempting him by simply being. Her body went limp. Not with the welcoming comfort he was used to. Instead, she was limp with fear. Her lips trembled as he pushed and stroked, and the quick flash of his dying conscience made him ease up. He couldn’t resist one more teasing nip of her plump bottom lip.
But he’d learned Maggie wasn’t the type of woman to let a hint of weakness go by.
She kissed him back.
Their mouths slid together, teeth clicking with bruising force. Her tongue slicked along his and he went rigid all the way down to his soul. Somehow his hands slipped free of her wrists and moved to cage her head, the better to angle her for his assault.
This wasn’t right. Women were meant to be protected and cherished, not pinned down and abused—even if she kissed him in return.
He yanked back. His head swam and his chest billowed in and out, brushing against the pert, uprising swell of her bosom.
His grip dug into the soft flesh of her cheeks before he even knew what he was doing. “Listen to me, you little hellcat. I’ll be sheriff of Fresh Springs if I have to ride into town with your dead body slung over my horse. Do you understand me?”
She froze for a second, her mouth slack and glistening under the weak light of the moon. “I understand you’re plumb crazy. My father is Fresh Springs’ sheriff.”
“Not for much longer.” His lips pulled tight in a mockery of a smile. “You asked what Masterson’s paying me? This. He’ll put me in as lawman.”
She shook her head. The motion sent her body shimmying under his. As tightly leashed as he was, it was almost more than he could take. His fists ground into the cold leather of the saddle, even as
Instead, he found her awake and watching him with the wide, frightened eyes of a jackrabbit. She had one hand free and was picking away at the length of rope that connected her to his gun belt.
He snatched her by the forearm. “Haven’t we been through this?”
She squeaked. Panic flashed over her face. Her toe connected with his hipbone, awfully close to his nearest and dearest. He grunted and flinched. Leave it to Maggie to take advantage—she yanked free at the same time she planted another kick in his ribs.
“Goddamn it,” he roared.
She scrambled away on her knees, but got tangled in the blankets as she tried to push to her feet. He rolled over, seized hold of her hips and pulled her flat with an oomph .
That didn’t stop her though. She did her damnedest to claw out his eyes.
He snatched her wrists and pressed them together. He jerked her arms up over her head, and over the curve of the saddle, the better to put them out of her use.
Her tight body stretched beneath him, ripe for the plucking. The last time he’d been in such an intimate position with a woman, face to face and so near he could smell her sweet breath wash over his mouth, it had been Annie. But he’d never been tempted to fuck Annie into submission like he was this little hellcat. His marriage had been about love and respect, not this angry, snarling lust that reared its head at the most inopportune moments.
Exhaustion trod over him like a weary horse. The fool woman kept fighting him, losing and coming back for more anyway. He remembered the way she’d stilled in the hotel room when she’d feared he was about to touch her bosom. It had been so many years since anyone had called Dean a gentleman; he wasn’t afraid of fighting dirty.
His mouth slanted over hers and he took . Took her lips, took her tongue, took her aggression. She tasted like fury, sweet and sharp at the same time, and—way down underneath—innocence. He poured in every bit of frustration he’d felt with her for tempting him by simply being. Her body went limp. Not with the welcoming comfort he was used to. Instead, she was limp with fear. Her lips trembled as he pushed and stroked, and the quick flash of his dying conscience made him ease up. He couldn’t resist one more teasing nip of her plump bottom lip.
But he’d learned Maggie wasn’t the type of woman to let a hint of weakness go by.
She kissed him back.
Their mouths slid together, teeth clicking with bruising force. Her tongue slicked along his and he went rigid all the way down to his soul. Somehow his hands slipped free of her wrists and moved to cage her head, the better to angle her for his assault.
This wasn’t right. Women were meant to be protected and cherished, not pinned down and abused—even if she kissed him in return.
He yanked back. His head swam and his chest billowed in and out, brushing against the pert, uprising swell of her bosom.
His grip dug into the soft flesh of her cheeks before he even knew what he was doing. “Listen to me, you little hellcat. I’ll be sheriff of Fresh Springs if I have to ride into town with your dead body slung over my horse. Do you understand me?”
She froze for a second, her mouth slack and glistening under the weak light of the moon. “I understand you’re plumb crazy. My father is Fresh Springs’ sheriff.”
“Not for much longer.” His lips pulled tight in a mockery of a smile. “You asked what Masterson’s paying me? This. He’ll put me in as lawman.”
She shook her head. The motion sent her body shimmying under his. As tightly leashed as he was, it was almost more than he could take. His fists ground into the cold leather of the saddle, even as
Similar Books
