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Authors: Carol Finch
Tags: Western
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trying to figure out where he was going to sleep. It couldn’t be with her. He trusted himself less tonight than he had last night.
“Please,” she whispered.
The self-discipline and restraint he’d spent three decades cultivating failed him completely. He was moving toward the inviting pallet and the alluring woman upon it before he realized it. The moment he eased down beside her Maddie snuggled up against his hip and rested her head on his shoulder. Forbidden sensations hammered at him as the scent and feel of her bombarded his senses. Jonah held himself perfectly still, afraid to move, for fear he’d moved toward her. Because if he did he was pretty sure his willpower would abandon him in one second flat.
“You’re a nice man, Jonah Danhill,” she murmured against his chest.
A nice man wouldn’t be thinking the kind of impure thoughts that were chasing around in his head at the moment. The feel of her full breasts pressed against his rib cage was arousing him to the extreme. The feel of her arm draped over his chest reminded him of being wrapped in a cocoon of living flesh. He wanted her in the worst way, wanted to be inside her, sharing the same flesh, the same breath.
The erotic thought played havoc with his self-restraint, especially when her enticing feminine scent kept wrapping itself around his senses and practically drowned him. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught of tormenting temptation, Jonah shifted sideways and turned his back on her. Which was just as bad, because Maddie cuddled spoon-fashion against his back and looped her arm around his waist.
Her breath stirred against his neck, causing goose-flesh to pebble his skin. Desire clenched inside him and one arousing fantasy after another flooded his mind and left him hard and aching. Damn it, even if he’d been made of stone he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t crack under the intense pressure of wanting her like hell blazing.
After what seemed forever he heard her methodic breathing and felt her slump in slumber. Jonah thanked Indian and white men’s deities equally for granting him relief.
One more day, he chanted silently. Surely he could endure one more day of nearly impossible temptationbefore she found another guide to lead her back to familiar territory.
Jonah winced when an odd sensation nipped at him. He didn’t want to visualize another man cuddling up with Maddie. He’d buy her a bedroll, Jonah decided immediately. And he’d make double damn certain that her next guide had the restraint and integrity to keep his hands off her.
Hell! Where in the blazes was he going to find a saint on such short notice?
Maddie awoke the following morning with a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and a dull throb thudding against her skull. The whiskey, she recalled. Though drinking had taken the edge off her nerves, there seemed the devil to pay later.
Raising heavy-lidded eyes, she glanced sideways, not surprised to note that Jonah was up and gone. She smiled slightly, remembering that she’d practically had to twist his arm to get him to share the bedroll with her.
Drowsily Maddie pushed upright and scrubbed her hands over her face. She needed to get up and get moving. She predicted Jonah had the horses saddled already and was champing at the bit, eager to be on the way to the fort so he could drop her off.
Maddie stepped from the cave to draw in a deep breath and revel in the lingering scent of rain that hung in the early morning air. Her gaze drifted across the valley and she admired the spectacular view for a long moment. With her senses cleared—partially—she ambled over to the pool to wash her face, then reversed direction to gather the bedroll and gear.
Jonah glanced up to see Maddie, the saddlebags, satchel and bedroll slung over her shoulder, making her way down the trail. Her face was pale—the aftereffects of her bout with whiskey, he diagnosed. Nonetheless, she had gathered up the gear and
“Please,” she whispered.
The self-discipline and restraint he’d spent three decades cultivating failed him completely. He was moving toward the inviting pallet and the alluring woman upon it before he realized it. The moment he eased down beside her Maddie snuggled up against his hip and rested her head on his shoulder. Forbidden sensations hammered at him as the scent and feel of her bombarded his senses. Jonah held himself perfectly still, afraid to move, for fear he’d moved toward her. Because if he did he was pretty sure his willpower would abandon him in one second flat.
“You’re a nice man, Jonah Danhill,” she murmured against his chest.
A nice man wouldn’t be thinking the kind of impure thoughts that were chasing around in his head at the moment. The feel of her full breasts pressed against his rib cage was arousing him to the extreme. The feel of her arm draped over his chest reminded him of being wrapped in a cocoon of living flesh. He wanted her in the worst way, wanted to be inside her, sharing the same flesh, the same breath.
The erotic thought played havoc with his self-restraint, especially when her enticing feminine scent kept wrapping itself around his senses and practically drowned him. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught of tormenting temptation, Jonah shifted sideways and turned his back on her. Which was just as bad, because Maddie cuddled spoon-fashion against his back and looped her arm around his waist.
Her breath stirred against his neck, causing goose-flesh to pebble his skin. Desire clenched inside him and one arousing fantasy after another flooded his mind and left him hard and aching. Damn it, even if he’d been made of stone he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t crack under the intense pressure of wanting her like hell blazing.
After what seemed forever he heard her methodic breathing and felt her slump in slumber. Jonah thanked Indian and white men’s deities equally for granting him relief.
One more day, he chanted silently. Surely he could endure one more day of nearly impossible temptationbefore she found another guide to lead her back to familiar territory.
Jonah winced when an odd sensation nipped at him. He didn’t want to visualize another man cuddling up with Maddie. He’d buy her a bedroll, Jonah decided immediately. And he’d make double damn certain that her next guide had the restraint and integrity to keep his hands off her.
Hell! Where in the blazes was he going to find a saint on such short notice?
Maddie awoke the following morning with a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and a dull throb thudding against her skull. The whiskey, she recalled. Though drinking had taken the edge off her nerves, there seemed the devil to pay later.
Raising heavy-lidded eyes, she glanced sideways, not surprised to note that Jonah was up and gone. She smiled slightly, remembering that she’d practically had to twist his arm to get him to share the bedroll with her.
Drowsily Maddie pushed upright and scrubbed her hands over her face. She needed to get up and get moving. She predicted Jonah had the horses saddled already and was champing at the bit, eager to be on the way to the fort so he could drop her off.
Maddie stepped from the cave to draw in a deep breath and revel in the lingering scent of rain that hung in the early morning air. Her gaze drifted across the valley and she admired the spectacular view for a long moment. With her senses cleared—partially—she ambled over to the pool to wash her face, then reversed direction to gather the bedroll and gear.
Jonah glanced up to see Maddie, the saddlebags, satchel and bedroll slung over her shoulder, making her way down the trail. Her face was pale—the aftereffects of her bout with whiskey, he diagnosed. Nonetheless, she had gathered up the gear and
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