breath I told the yahoo that I myself fancy women who can wrestle crocodiles and raise hell. That they make life more interestin’. The mangy devil didn’t print
that
line though. Got me in trouble up to my eyeballs with all the women’s libbers.” His voice rose dramatically. “I don’t want to defend my masculine pride anymore!” He let go of her hands and squinted his eyes shut. “Have at me! I’ll just lay here and prove that I can be sensitive, like that bloke on the talk show.”
“Who?” she asked breathlessly.
“Phil Donahue! Go on! Abuse me! I won’t make a move to stop you!”
His outrageous teasing was too much. Partly to tease back, partly because she couldn’t help herself, Millie put a hand on the side of his throat and stroked gingerly.
“Go on, go on! I can take it, Melisande! If you want me to prove that I don’t mind aggressive women, I’ll just lay still and show you!”
“You suffer so nobly.”
Feeling like a kid tempted to steal candy but terrifiedof the consequences, she propped herself on one elbow and let her hand trail slowly across his chest. His torso was the ultimate masculine promise—so much muscle, so much power, covered by ruddy skin and patterns of brown hair.
I shouldn’t do this. He’ll take advantage of the situation. I’ll deserve the trouble, if he does. Stop, girl, stop!
His arms lay above his head. She reached out and brushed her trembling fingertips along the corded paths of vein and sinew on one forearm. She had learned early in life to admire strength of purpose. How could she help but admire this man who wouldn’t give up?
Millie flattened her hand over his heart and gauged its rapid beat. Her own heart was in sync. She ran her hand over his chest, molding her small fingers to the ridge of a rib, then watching rich brown hair curl over her nails as she slid her hand to the center of his stomach. A taut muscle fluttered underneath her touch, and Millie looked quickly at Brig’s face.
Even though he still had his eyes closed, there was nothing peaceful about his expression. A mask of determination accentuated the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His lips were slightly parted, and when her hand slid lower on his stomach, he inhaled audibly.
She glanced down his body and whimpered at the visible sign of her effect straining against the soft white fabric of his pants. Power. That was what they shared, and Millie knew then that she could ruin him just as easily as he might ruin her. And he
would
ruin her, she knew very well. He lived his personal and professional life in a harsh spotlight. He needed a woman who could smooth his rough edges and keep him out of trouble, and she was just the opposite. Eventually he’d realize that fact.
Choking back a cry of frustration, Millie bent forward, kissed a spot over his heart, then rested her cheek against the center of his chest. His heartbeat was stronger now.
“Melisande, I’m crazy about you,” he whispered.
But before his arms could surround her, she pushed herself away and stood up. He opened his eyes and studied her troubled expression, then grimaced as if he’d read her mind.
“I practically begged you to make me hot just now,” he murmured. “Don’t feel guilty.”
“We can’t, Brig,” she told him wretchedly. “We just can’t take this any further. Not ever.”
She turned and made her way carefully across the roof to the ladder, then climbed down. Brig rose and walked to the gnarled carcass of the oak tree, then knelt by the torn place and looked down into her house. A minute later he heard water running in a sink somewhere below him. He could picture her splashing water on her face, trying to wash away her quiet torment. She had been taught not to think of herself as a woman, that women were a certain way and men another, that she didn’t fit in.
Brig’s eyes narrowed in concentration. When he got through with her, she’d know beyond a doubt that she was the best kind of
that
line though. Got me in trouble up to my eyeballs with all the women’s libbers.” His voice rose dramatically. “I don’t want to defend my masculine pride anymore!” He let go of her hands and squinted his eyes shut. “Have at me! I’ll just lay here and prove that I can be sensitive, like that bloke on the talk show.”
“Who?” she asked breathlessly.
“Phil Donahue! Go on! Abuse me! I won’t make a move to stop you!”
His outrageous teasing was too much. Partly to tease back, partly because she couldn’t help herself, Millie put a hand on the side of his throat and stroked gingerly.
“Go on, go on! I can take it, Melisande! If you want me to prove that I don’t mind aggressive women, I’ll just lay still and show you!”
“You suffer so nobly.”
Feeling like a kid tempted to steal candy but terrifiedof the consequences, she propped herself on one elbow and let her hand trail slowly across his chest. His torso was the ultimate masculine promise—so much muscle, so much power, covered by ruddy skin and patterns of brown hair.
I shouldn’t do this. He’ll take advantage of the situation. I’ll deserve the trouble, if he does. Stop, girl, stop!
His arms lay above his head. She reached out and brushed her trembling fingertips along the corded paths of vein and sinew on one forearm. She had learned early in life to admire strength of purpose. How could she help but admire this man who wouldn’t give up?
Millie flattened her hand over his heart and gauged its rapid beat. Her own heart was in sync. She ran her hand over his chest, molding her small fingers to the ridge of a rib, then watching rich brown hair curl over her nails as she slid her hand to the center of his stomach. A taut muscle fluttered underneath her touch, and Millie looked quickly at Brig’s face.
Even though he still had his eyes closed, there was nothing peaceful about his expression. A mask of determination accentuated the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His lips were slightly parted, and when her hand slid lower on his stomach, he inhaled audibly.
She glanced down his body and whimpered at the visible sign of her effect straining against the soft white fabric of his pants. Power. That was what they shared, and Millie knew then that she could ruin him just as easily as he might ruin her. And he
would
ruin her, she knew very well. He lived his personal and professional life in a harsh spotlight. He needed a woman who could smooth his rough edges and keep him out of trouble, and she was just the opposite. Eventually he’d realize that fact.
Choking back a cry of frustration, Millie bent forward, kissed a spot over his heart, then rested her cheek against the center of his chest. His heartbeat was stronger now.
“Melisande, I’m crazy about you,” he whispered.
But before his arms could surround her, she pushed herself away and stood up. He opened his eyes and studied her troubled expression, then grimaced as if he’d read her mind.
“I practically begged you to make me hot just now,” he murmured. “Don’t feel guilty.”
“We can’t, Brig,” she told him wretchedly. “We just can’t take this any further. Not ever.”
She turned and made her way carefully across the roof to the ladder, then climbed down. Brig rose and walked to the gnarled carcass of the oak tree, then knelt by the torn place and looked down into her house. A minute later he heard water running in a sink somewhere below him. He could picture her splashing water on her face, trying to wash away her quiet torment. She had been taught not to think of herself as a woman, that women were a certain way and men another, that she didn’t fit in.
Brig’s eyes narrowed in concentration. When he got through with her, she’d know beyond a doubt that she was the best kind of
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