Read Online Granite Man by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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was intact. Biting, but intact.
And she felt exciting in his arms, warm and supple, soft, fitting him without gaps or angles or discomfort. He shifted her subtly, savoring the feel of her, silently urging her to relax against his strength.
"Sorry, honey," he said. "If I had known how long it had been since—"
"Pull my other leg," Mariah interrupted. Then she smiled wearily. "On second thought, don't. It might fall off."
"How long has it been since you've ridden?" he asked again.
"Years. Six blessed, wonderful years."
Cash said something savage.
"Oh, it's not that bad," Mariah said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. It's worse."
He laughed unwillingly and held her even closer.
She braced herself against the temptation to put her head on the muscular resilience of his chest and relax her aching body. Her head sagged anyway. She sighed and gave herself to Cash's strength, figuring he had plenty to spare.
"A soak in the hot springs will help," he said.
Mariah groaned softly at the thought of hot water drawing out the stiffness of her muscles.
"My swimsuit is in my backpack," she said. "Better yet, just give me a bar of soap and throw me in as is. That way I won't have to haul water to wash my socks."
Laughing soundlessly, shaking his head, Cash held Mariah for a long moment in something very close to a hug. She might be an accomplished little actress in some ways, but she was good company in others. Linda hadn't been. When things didn't go according to her plan – and often even when they did – she pouted and wheedled like a child after candy. At first it had been gratifying to be the center of Linda's world. Gradually it had become tedious to be cast in a role of father to a manipulative little girl who would never grow up.
A long, almost contented sigh escaped Mariah's lips, stirring the hair that pushed up beneath Cash's open collar. A visible ripple of response went through him as he felt her breath wash over his skin. He clenched his jaw and walked toward the corral fence.
"Time to stand on your own two feet," he said tightly.
With the unselfconsciousness of a cat, Mariah rubbed her cheek against Cash's shirt and admitted, "I'd rather stand on yours."
"I figured that out the first time I saw you."
The sardonic tone of Cash's voice told Mariah that the truce was over. She didn't know what she had done to earn either the war or the truce. All she knew was that she had never enjoyed anything quite so much as being held by Cash, feeling the flex and resilience of his body, being so close to him that she could see sunlight melt and run through his hair like liquid gold.
When Cash's left arm released Mariah's legs, everything dipped and turned once more, but slowly this time. Instinctively she put her arms around his neck, seeking a stable center in a shifting world. Held securely more by the hard power of his right arm than by both her own arms, Mariah felt her hips slide down the length of Cash's body with a slow intimacy that shook her. Her glance flew to his face. His expression was as impassive as granite.
"Grab hold of the top rail," Cash instructed.
Mariah reached for the smooth, weathered wood with a hand that trembled. As she twisted in Cash's arms, the fitted T-shirt outlined her breasts in alluring detail, telling of the soft, feminine flesh beneath.
He wondered whether her nipples were pink or dusky rose or even darker, a vivid contrast to the pale satin of her skin. He thought of bending down and caressing her breasts with his tongue and teeth, drawing out the nipples until they felt like hot, hard velvet and she twisted beneath him, crying for release from the passionate prison of their lovemaking.
Don't be a fool, Cash told himself savagely. No woman ever wants a man like that. Not really. Not so deep and hard and wild she forgets all the playacting, all the survival calculations, all the cunning.
Yet, despite the cold lessons of past experience,
And she felt exciting in his arms, warm and supple, soft, fitting him without gaps or angles or discomfort. He shifted her subtly, savoring the feel of her, silently urging her to relax against his strength.
"Sorry, honey," he said. "If I had known how long it had been since—"
"Pull my other leg," Mariah interrupted. Then she smiled wearily. "On second thought, don't. It might fall off."
"How long has it been since you've ridden?" he asked again.
"Years. Six blessed, wonderful years."
Cash said something savage.
"Oh, it's not that bad," Mariah said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. It's worse."
He laughed unwillingly and held her even closer.
She braced herself against the temptation to put her head on the muscular resilience of his chest and relax her aching body. Her head sagged anyway. She sighed and gave herself to Cash's strength, figuring he had plenty to spare.
"A soak in the hot springs will help," he said.
Mariah groaned softly at the thought of hot water drawing out the stiffness of her muscles.
"My swimsuit is in my backpack," she said. "Better yet, just give me a bar of soap and throw me in as is. That way I won't have to haul water to wash my socks."
Laughing soundlessly, shaking his head, Cash held Mariah for a long moment in something very close to a hug. She might be an accomplished little actress in some ways, but she was good company in others. Linda hadn't been. When things didn't go according to her plan – and often even when they did – she pouted and wheedled like a child after candy. At first it had been gratifying to be the center of Linda's world. Gradually it had become tedious to be cast in a role of father to a manipulative little girl who would never grow up.
A long, almost contented sigh escaped Mariah's lips, stirring the hair that pushed up beneath Cash's open collar. A visible ripple of response went through him as he felt her breath wash over his skin. He clenched his jaw and walked toward the corral fence.
"Time to stand on your own two feet," he said tightly.
With the unselfconsciousness of a cat, Mariah rubbed her cheek against Cash's shirt and admitted, "I'd rather stand on yours."
"I figured that out the first time I saw you."
The sardonic tone of Cash's voice told Mariah that the truce was over. She didn't know what she had done to earn either the war or the truce. All she knew was that she had never enjoyed anything quite so much as being held by Cash, feeling the flex and resilience of his body, being so close to him that she could see sunlight melt and run through his hair like liquid gold.
When Cash's left arm released Mariah's legs, everything dipped and turned once more, but slowly this time. Instinctively she put her arms around his neck, seeking a stable center in a shifting world. Held securely more by the hard power of his right arm than by both her own arms, Mariah felt her hips slide down the length of Cash's body with a slow intimacy that shook her. Her glance flew to his face. His expression was as impassive as granite.
"Grab hold of the top rail," Cash instructed.
Mariah reached for the smooth, weathered wood with a hand that trembled. As she twisted in Cash's arms, the fitted T-shirt outlined her breasts in alluring detail, telling of the soft, feminine flesh beneath.
He wondered whether her nipples were pink or dusky rose or even darker, a vivid contrast to the pale satin of her skin. He thought of bending down and caressing her breasts with his tongue and teeth, drawing out the nipples until they felt like hot, hard velvet and she twisted beneath him, crying for release from the passionate prison of their lovemaking.
Don't be a fool, Cash told himself savagely. No woman ever wants a man like that. Not really. Not so deep and hard and wild she forgets all the playacting, all the survival calculations, all the cunning.
Yet, despite the cold lessons of past experience,
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