waited for her to relent and beg his aid. How she despised him for forcing her to continue the ungainly floundering in muck nearly up to her knees. Let him watch, let him wait, let him laugh. She’d give him no satisfaction.
Then she spotted salvation at the bend of the road up ahead. A huge oak boasting a mammoth spread of branches waited, offering dry patches of ground between gnarled tunnels of overgrown roots. Focused upon those arid patches of grass, she started when Zeus suddenly moved up beside her. Stopping in the wallow of mud, she grimaced up into the flood of rain to see a broad, callused palm stretched down to her.
“Enough of this. Give me your hand.”
Thinking of that dry nook only yards away, she glared at his hand. “I do not need your assistance, Mister Garrett.”
“Patrice.” Warning growled from him.
Then the air around them concussed with a sound so huge and light so blindingly bright, Patrice thought for a moment that they’d been hit by cannon fire. Zeus reared away in panic. Reeve fought to bring the animal under control as Patrice crouched with palms pressed over her ears. In a frantic daze, she looked about, stunned to see that giant oak had split asunder. Twin halves peeled back from a center core, smoking from the bolt that cleaved it in two. Sparks crackled through the air in a maddened dance, then all was still except the rain and the pounding of her heart.
She stared at the spot where she might have been crushed had Reeve not stopped her.
She didn’t protest when Reeve leaned down from the saddle to draw her up in front of him. Numbed by her close brush with death and chilled to the bone, she lacked the strength to muster a rebellion. She wanted to get to the Glade, where warmth and welcome waited. And if that meant sharing the saddle with her enemy, it was now a necessary sacrifice.
Until he slipped off his Union jacket.
The instant it settled about her shoulders, a sensation of security seeped in along with the lingering heat from his body. Wool abraded her chafed skin the way its Federal blue color rubbed her pride raw. It occurred to her to shrug it off in a gesture of contempt, but he must have guessed her train of thought, for he pulled it tight, buttoning it to trap her inside its protective folds.
Patrice sat rigidly balanced atop his thighs, caught between the brace of powerful forearms. Awareness of him beat through her veins the waythe rain peppered her unprotected face, icy hot and impossible to ignore.
Without the covering of his jacket, Reeve’s shirt fit against him with an almost transparent wetness, delineating each muscular swell and intriguing hollow. The usual tousle of his untamed hair was slicked back with satin luster. A dappling of moisture highlighted the angles of his face and caught in the stubble at his chin. As close as she was, she could see whorls of desire darkening his irises despite his ruthlessly held control. Evidence of it squared along his jawline and thinned his lips into a narrow, negating slash. He didn’t like the pull of intensity any more than she did.
His large hand opened at the back of her head, cupping it, compelling it to bow and seek shelter against his shoulder.
She should have turned away, denying what snapped between them in that unguarded moment to prove he had no power over her emotions.
Instead, she bent.
Her cheek nestled into the lea between shoulder and throat, finding a comfortable valley in which to rest. Immediately, she felt the bunch of his thighs as he nudged Zeus into a cautious lope as the steadying curl of his arms kept her close. But though safe in that coddled embrace, Patrice found no relaxation.
She’d always felt the basic attraction between them, something hot and animal and impossible to explain. It had nothing to do with the warmth and respect she felt for Jonah. It was somehow beyond the respectable and perhaps that was why, in her reckless youth, it was so alluring. No matter how earnestly she
Then she spotted salvation at the bend of the road up ahead. A huge oak boasting a mammoth spread of branches waited, offering dry patches of ground between gnarled tunnels of overgrown roots. Focused upon those arid patches of grass, she started when Zeus suddenly moved up beside her. Stopping in the wallow of mud, she grimaced up into the flood of rain to see a broad, callused palm stretched down to her.
“Enough of this. Give me your hand.”
Thinking of that dry nook only yards away, she glared at his hand. “I do not need your assistance, Mister Garrett.”
“Patrice.” Warning growled from him.
Then the air around them concussed with a sound so huge and light so blindingly bright, Patrice thought for a moment that they’d been hit by cannon fire. Zeus reared away in panic. Reeve fought to bring the animal under control as Patrice crouched with palms pressed over her ears. In a frantic daze, she looked about, stunned to see that giant oak had split asunder. Twin halves peeled back from a center core, smoking from the bolt that cleaved it in two. Sparks crackled through the air in a maddened dance, then all was still except the rain and the pounding of her heart.
She stared at the spot where she might have been crushed had Reeve not stopped her.
She didn’t protest when Reeve leaned down from the saddle to draw her up in front of him. Numbed by her close brush with death and chilled to the bone, she lacked the strength to muster a rebellion. She wanted to get to the Glade, where warmth and welcome waited. And if that meant sharing the saddle with her enemy, it was now a necessary sacrifice.
Until he slipped off his Union jacket.
The instant it settled about her shoulders, a sensation of security seeped in along with the lingering heat from his body. Wool abraded her chafed skin the way its Federal blue color rubbed her pride raw. It occurred to her to shrug it off in a gesture of contempt, but he must have guessed her train of thought, for he pulled it tight, buttoning it to trap her inside its protective folds.
Patrice sat rigidly balanced atop his thighs, caught between the brace of powerful forearms. Awareness of him beat through her veins the waythe rain peppered her unprotected face, icy hot and impossible to ignore.
Without the covering of his jacket, Reeve’s shirt fit against him with an almost transparent wetness, delineating each muscular swell and intriguing hollow. The usual tousle of his untamed hair was slicked back with satin luster. A dappling of moisture highlighted the angles of his face and caught in the stubble at his chin. As close as she was, she could see whorls of desire darkening his irises despite his ruthlessly held control. Evidence of it squared along his jawline and thinned his lips into a narrow, negating slash. He didn’t like the pull of intensity any more than she did.
His large hand opened at the back of her head, cupping it, compelling it to bow and seek shelter against his shoulder.
She should have turned away, denying what snapped between them in that unguarded moment to prove he had no power over her emotions.
Instead, she bent.
Her cheek nestled into the lea between shoulder and throat, finding a comfortable valley in which to rest. Immediately, she felt the bunch of his thighs as he nudged Zeus into a cautious lope as the steadying curl of his arms kept her close. But though safe in that coddled embrace, Patrice found no relaxation.
She’d always felt the basic attraction between them, something hot and animal and impossible to explain. It had nothing to do with the warmth and respect she felt for Jonah. It was somehow beyond the respectable and perhaps that was why, in her reckless youth, it was so alluring. No matter how earnestly she
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