Read Online The Reluctant Hero by Lorraine Heath - Free Book Online Page A

worried about that dang trunk of yours but tried not to let the men carrying it know that you didn’t trust them to get the job done.”
    â€œHow did you know—”
    â€œThe way you kept reaching for it, then pulled your hands back.”
    â€œYou’re observant, Sheriff.”
    He took her hand and stroked his thumb slowly over the knot on her finger. She could feel his sensuous touch clear down to her curling toes. She’d never felt this way when Elliot touched her, not that he’d been this brazen. He’d always been the perfect gentleman. There were no perfect gentlemen in her stories, and until this moment, she hadn’t realized why: they were boring.
    â€œI couldn’t see it when you were by the stagecoach, of course, but it was one of the first things I noticed when you were standing in front of me. I couldn’t figure out what had caused it.”
    â€œToo many hours with a pencil gripped in my hand,” she forced out. She wanted to be touching him as well, but she’d never been physically bold. “I’ve been telling stories since I was old enough to form letters.”
    â€œWhere do they come from?”
    He was looking so deeply into her eyes that she thought he might be able to read all the doubts about herself that she tried to hide, the insecurities that had been built slowly, one by one, as she’d learned about her father’s deceptions, taken on the responsibility of caring for her infirmed mother, and been taught by a man she’d cared deeply for that love didn’t conquer all things.
    She shook her head, becoming as lost in his eyes as he seemed to be in hers. What had the question been? Stories, about stories.
    â€œI don’t know where they come from,” she admitted. “They’ve always come so easily, and now they seem so reluctant to appear.”
    â€œYou know he was a fool.”
    â€œWho?” she asked, startled by the abrupt change in topic.
    â€œYour fiancé. To have given you up for the reasons he did. A man could live with you in poverty for the remainder of his days, and he’d still be rich.”
    Heartfelt poetry from the sheriff was nearly her undoing. She didn’t object when he cradled her face with his large hands, didn’t protest when his mouth blanketed hers with a kiss that stole her breath, stole the steadiness of her heartbeat. He snaked an arm around her, drawing her close until her breasts were flattened against the firm planes of his chest. He swept his tongue through her mouth as though he were exploring a long-forgotten trail: tentatively, unsure of the path, his confidence growing as he mapped out the area.
    She thought she should break off the kiss, press her palms to his chest and push him away, but it had been so long, too long since she’d felt desired or, more importantly, since she’d felt even the whisper of desire, of the need to be with a man. Demands and responsibilities had put her own needs on hold.
    She wound her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal fervor. His mustache didn’t tickle, but was soft, comforting. She’d never been kissed like this, with so much passion that came as slowly as he walked. As though the journey was to be savored, each step along the way noticed for what it offered.
    Slowly, leisurely, he took his fill of her as though he had all day to do so, hungrily, deeply, as though it was his only chance. As though today was all that would be given to him—
    Abruptly she pulled back and studied him. He was breathing as harshly as she was. “You’re trying to distract me,” she accused him.
    â€œI’d say there was no trying about it. I succeeded.”
    â€œWell, your reprieve is over. I’m here to observe your day.” She stood. “And observe it I will.”
    After giving the dog a final pat, he got to his feet and gave her the smallest of grins, tilting his head back to the