across it, parting it, testing its silky
softness.
Her heart raced under the soft, sweet pressure, and her eyes
closed helplessly. The silence was as pure as dawn, broken only by
the gentle swish of the tree limbs with their long gray beards of
Spanish moss-and the erratic sound of her own breathing.
His lean fingers speared into the soft hair at her temples,
holding her flushed face firmly as he bent; and she felt his firm,
chiseled mouth touch her closed eyelids. His broad chest
eased gently down against her in a contact that sent a shudder of pure pleasure rippling through her slen-derness.
"Don't be afraid of me, little girl," he murmured against her
ear. "I'm not trying to seduce you."
She blushed, swallowing nervously, and she felt his deep, soft
laughter vibrate against her. Over the thin cotton shirt, her small
hands pressed against the warm muscles of his chest.
His mouth, slightly parted, caressed her high cheekbone, the
soft line of her jaw, her chin. "Unbutton it," he murmured
absently.
"W…what?" she managed, drowning in new sensations.
"My shirt," he breathed at the corner of her mouth.
Her slender hands curled against him. "I…I can't!" she
whispered shakily.
"Don't you want to touch me, little innocent?" he asked
quietly. "You did that night in the pool-until you realized what
you were doing."
"Clint, must you…!" she moaned
"Hush," he whispered, his mouth moving until it was poised
just above hers, so close that his warm, smoky breath mingled with
hers. His hands moved on her face to tilt her chin up. "I need your
mouth now, little girl, under mine, soft and warm and sweet."
Her eyelids opened briefly so that she could see him, and the
look on his face made her tremble. "Clint…" she whispered
tremulously.
"Tell me you want it," he whispered huskily.
A sob caught in her throat. "Oh, Clint…!"
His lips brushed against hers in a slow, unbearably tender
tasting kiss that was everything she dreamed it could be.
Vaguely she felt his fingers slide under her head to cup it, felt
him stiffen as he began, ever so gently to deepen the kiss until it
grew suddenly from a tiny spark to a bellowing flame between
them.
A gasp broke from her lips at the fury of it, and her hands
trembled as they went up to clutch at the broad shoulders above
her. Clint. This was Clint, who taught her to ride, who bullied
her, who broke her young heart that unforgettable summer- who was
teaching her a lesson in ardor that nothing would ever erase from
her mind or her heart. Clint, who was…loving her…!
All at once, he tore his mouth from hers and looked down at her
with eyes that seemed to go up in green smoke.
One lean finger traced the soft, slightly swollen curve of her
mouth in a lazy, tangible silence. "Margaretta Leigh," he
whispered, his eyes sketching every line of her face. "What you
know about love-making could be written on the head of a pin."
She jerked her eyes down to his chest. "I never pretended to be
sophisticated," she said tightly. "I'm sorry if I
disappointed you. May I get up now?"
"You didn't disappoint me," he said quietly, tilting her
reluctant face up to his.
An irritating mist blurred him in her sight, and she hated the
burr in her throat."I don't know anything…!" she
mumbled miserably.
"It makes for a hell of a change," he told her, and smiled
patiently down at her. "I'm used to good-time girls who know
everything, not sweet little innocents who need teaching."
Involuntarily, her fingers went up to touch the hard, firm
mouth, feeling its sensuous contours. He kissed her fingers
absently, his own going to the top buttons of his shirt to
snap them open. He caught her searching hand and moved it down
inside the opening, against the warm, slightly damp firmness of
bronzed muscles and curling black hair.
With a gasp, she jerked her hand away as if it had been burned
by the brief contact with his body.
His dark brows drew together, his eyes narrowed. "My God, is even that too intimate for
softness.
Her heart raced under the soft, sweet pressure, and her eyes
closed helplessly. The silence was as pure as dawn, broken only by
the gentle swish of the tree limbs with their long gray beards of
Spanish moss-and the erratic sound of her own breathing.
His lean fingers speared into the soft hair at her temples,
holding her flushed face firmly as he bent; and she felt his firm,
chiseled mouth touch her closed eyelids. His broad chest
eased gently down against her in a contact that sent a shudder of pure pleasure rippling through her slen-derness.
"Don't be afraid of me, little girl," he murmured against her
ear. "I'm not trying to seduce you."
She blushed, swallowing nervously, and she felt his deep, soft
laughter vibrate against her. Over the thin cotton shirt, her small
hands pressed against the warm muscles of his chest.
His mouth, slightly parted, caressed her high cheekbone, the
soft line of her jaw, her chin. "Unbutton it," he murmured
absently.
"W…what?" she managed, drowning in new sensations.
"My shirt," he breathed at the corner of her mouth.
Her slender hands curled against him. "I…I can't!" she
whispered shakily.
"Don't you want to touch me, little innocent?" he asked
quietly. "You did that night in the pool-until you realized what
you were doing."
"Clint, must you…!" she moaned
"Hush," he whispered, his mouth moving until it was poised
just above hers, so close that his warm, smoky breath mingled with
hers. His hands moved on her face to tilt her chin up. "I need your
mouth now, little girl, under mine, soft and warm and sweet."
Her eyelids opened briefly so that she could see him, and the
look on his face made her tremble. "Clint…" she whispered
tremulously.
"Tell me you want it," he whispered huskily.
A sob caught in her throat. "Oh, Clint…!"
His lips brushed against hers in a slow, unbearably tender
tasting kiss that was everything she dreamed it could be.
Vaguely she felt his fingers slide under her head to cup it, felt
him stiffen as he began, ever so gently to deepen the kiss until it
grew suddenly from a tiny spark to a bellowing flame between
them.
A gasp broke from her lips at the fury of it, and her hands
trembled as they went up to clutch at the broad shoulders above
her. Clint. This was Clint, who taught her to ride, who bullied
her, who broke her young heart that unforgettable summer- who was
teaching her a lesson in ardor that nothing would ever erase from
her mind or her heart. Clint, who was…loving her…!
All at once, he tore his mouth from hers and looked down at her
with eyes that seemed to go up in green smoke.
One lean finger traced the soft, slightly swollen curve of her
mouth in a lazy, tangible silence. "Margaretta Leigh," he
whispered, his eyes sketching every line of her face. "What you
know about love-making could be written on the head of a pin."
She jerked her eyes down to his chest. "I never pretended to be
sophisticated," she said tightly. "I'm sorry if I
disappointed you. May I get up now?"
"You didn't disappoint me," he said quietly, tilting her
reluctant face up to his.
An irritating mist blurred him in her sight, and she hated the
burr in her throat."I don't know anything…!" she
mumbled miserably.
"It makes for a hell of a change," he told her, and smiled
patiently down at her. "I'm used to good-time girls who know
everything, not sweet little innocents who need teaching."
Involuntarily, her fingers went up to touch the hard, firm
mouth, feeling its sensuous contours. He kissed her fingers
absently, his own going to the top buttons of his shirt to
snap them open. He caught her searching hand and moved it down
inside the opening, against the warm, slightly damp firmness of
bronzed muscles and curling black hair.
With a gasp, she jerked her hand away as if it had been burned
by the brief contact with his body.
His dark brows drew together, his eyes narrowed. "My God, is even that too intimate for
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