Read Online Reckless Promise by Jenny Andersen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenny Andersen
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the
mysteries of man-and-woman had been half as exciting as this.
Surely sex had to be better than what she'd
experienced. Poppy's eyelashes fluttered against the sun, the
weight of its light and heat pressing on her skin, bringing every
nerve alive in a way that she'd never felt before. Surely a lover
should make a woman feel like this, the way she did in dreams.
Languidly she rolled her shoulders up and
back, and felt the weight of her breasts following the movement.
The fingers of sunlight brushed her eyelids, her breasts, brushed
her nipples, until they stood upright and demanding. She lay back,
the sun hot on her skin, and trailed her fingers down her sides,
arching upward to the almost physical touch of sun beating on her
breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
Light as down, her fingers followed the sun
on her body down her sides, along her legs. She let her hands fall
limp and relaxed against the warmed stone. Sunlight feathered
across the ardently red curls that foamed between her thighs like a
torch, each hair quivering beneath the caress. Her whole being
pulsed upward.
* * *
Mac pulled his horse to a skidding stop and
stared down the hill and across the stream. Holy Christmas in a
bucket. That was Poppy, stark naked on a rock, stretched out like
an offering to the gods right out where anyone could see her.
He certainly
could...see...every...inch...of...her and he gaped like a teenager
witnessing his first woman.
Desire slammed through him like a charging
bull, and his blood surged into an instant erection so fast it left
him light headed and dizzy. He gulped air as if he'd run ten
miles.
He had to get his hands on her.
Without consciously willing the movements, he
lifted the reins and nudged the horse into a walk, imagining how it
would be to cross the stream, icy water splashing up from the
horse's hooves, his gaze fixed on Poppy, waiting there for him.
He'd step down from the saddle, be up on that rock beside her in
two strides, have all that creamy, tantalizing woman under him—
Before the horse had taken half a dozen
steps, high, happy voices drifted up the canyon and she leaped for
her clothes. He stopped under a tall pine just as a flicker of
movement up the hill to the right caught his eye. Without moving,
he swept his gaze across the hill just in time to catch the flash
of light from a pair of binoculars. He focused on the shadowy
figure and recognized the horse. Pulled his own field glasses out
of a saddlebag and looked to be sure. Yep. The same horse he'd seen
Brad Farwell ride out on this morning. Brad Farwell, with his eyes
practically falling out of his head as he watched Poppy scramble
into her clothes.
The image of Poppy sprawled on that rock
haunted Mac for the rest of the day. While he unsaddled and curried
his horse, while he went over bills, with each stroke of
paint-loaded brush over the new tool shed, she filled his mind.
Hell, that image would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He worried some over what to do about Brad,
but he couldn't blame the kid. Mac might be ten years older and
about a million years wiser but he sure hadn't turned away when
he'd seen her on that rock. So as long as the dumb ass didn't act
on what Mac one-hundred-per-cent knew he felt, everything would be
fine. But now Mac had one more reason to stick close to her. He'd
be her bodyguard as long as Brad was around. Tough job, but he
could do it. He didn't even try to stop the smile.
Poppy didn't come swinging down the hill
until nearly suppertime. She disappeared into her cabin and Mac
dumped the paintbrush and went after her. But when he reached
Poppy's cabin, there stood Tom, leaning in the doorway. Again. The
sight of him reminded Mac that they'd never had that little
talk.
He wanted, he needed an innocent explanation
for Tom's presence, so he could concentrate on Poppy. But you
couldn't always get what you wanted. Besides Poppy, he wanted
Alice’s happiness, but it looked like his sister's husband might
mysteries of man-and-woman had been half as exciting as this.
Surely sex had to be better than what she'd
experienced. Poppy's eyelashes fluttered against the sun, the
weight of its light and heat pressing on her skin, bringing every
nerve alive in a way that she'd never felt before. Surely a lover
should make a woman feel like this, the way she did in dreams.
Languidly she rolled her shoulders up and
back, and felt the weight of her breasts following the movement.
The fingers of sunlight brushed her eyelids, her breasts, brushed
her nipples, until they stood upright and demanding. She lay back,
the sun hot on her skin, and trailed her fingers down her sides,
arching upward to the almost physical touch of sun beating on her
breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
Light as down, her fingers followed the sun
on her body down her sides, along her legs. She let her hands fall
limp and relaxed against the warmed stone. Sunlight feathered
across the ardently red curls that foamed between her thighs like a
torch, each hair quivering beneath the caress. Her whole being
pulsed upward.
* * *
Mac pulled his horse to a skidding stop and
stared down the hill and across the stream. Holy Christmas in a
bucket. That was Poppy, stark naked on a rock, stretched out like
an offering to the gods right out where anyone could see her.
He certainly
could...see...every...inch...of...her and he gaped like a teenager
witnessing his first woman.
Desire slammed through him like a charging
bull, and his blood surged into an instant erection so fast it left
him light headed and dizzy. He gulped air as if he'd run ten
miles.
He had to get his hands on her.
Without consciously willing the movements, he
lifted the reins and nudged the horse into a walk, imagining how it
would be to cross the stream, icy water splashing up from the
horse's hooves, his gaze fixed on Poppy, waiting there for him.
He'd step down from the saddle, be up on that rock beside her in
two strides, have all that creamy, tantalizing woman under him—
Before the horse had taken half a dozen
steps, high, happy voices drifted up the canyon and she leaped for
her clothes. He stopped under a tall pine just as a flicker of
movement up the hill to the right caught his eye. Without moving,
he swept his gaze across the hill just in time to catch the flash
of light from a pair of binoculars. He focused on the shadowy
figure and recognized the horse. Pulled his own field glasses out
of a saddlebag and looked to be sure. Yep. The same horse he'd seen
Brad Farwell ride out on this morning. Brad Farwell, with his eyes
practically falling out of his head as he watched Poppy scramble
into her clothes.
The image of Poppy sprawled on that rock
haunted Mac for the rest of the day. While he unsaddled and curried
his horse, while he went over bills, with each stroke of
paint-loaded brush over the new tool shed, she filled his mind.
Hell, that image would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He worried some over what to do about Brad,
but he couldn't blame the kid. Mac might be ten years older and
about a million years wiser but he sure hadn't turned away when
he'd seen her on that rock. So as long as the dumb ass didn't act
on what Mac one-hundred-per-cent knew he felt, everything would be
fine. But now Mac had one more reason to stick close to her. He'd
be her bodyguard as long as Brad was around. Tough job, but he
could do it. He didn't even try to stop the smile.
Poppy didn't come swinging down the hill
until nearly suppertime. She disappeared into her cabin and Mac
dumped the paintbrush and went after her. But when he reached
Poppy's cabin, there stood Tom, leaning in the doorway. Again. The
sight of him reminded Mac that they'd never had that little
talk.
He wanted, he needed an innocent explanation
for Tom's presence, so he could concentrate on Poppy. But you
couldn't always get what you wanted. Besides Poppy, he wanted
Alice’s happiness, but it looked like his sister's husband might
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