A Wild Yearning by Penelope Williamson Page A

and falling within his chest, rising, falling, rising—
    His breath caught. He took a step back and his hands fell away.
    "I'll kneel down and you get on my shoulders. Then I'll boost you up," he said. There was a rough edge to his voice. Delia thought he was probably angry with her again. What a wooden-headed fool she was for getting herself into this predicament. Real ladies, she was sure, didn't get into a snit and go running off into the woods to get lost and then fall into a pit so that they had to be rescued.
    Ty knelt in front of her. She hesitated a moment, for she really didn't want to touch him. There were things she wanted to do to Tyler Savitch, although she was only vaguely aware of the nature of those things. She just knew that once she started touching him she wouldn't be able to stop herself.
    He gave an impatient grunt. "Let's go, Delia..."
    Drawing in a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He reached behind him and grasped her legs, pulling them around his waist and standing up in one fluid motion. The top of the pit was now only a couple of feet above Ty's head and it would be a simple matter for her to let go of his neck and pull herself out.
    But she didn't move. She was aware of the pulse in his neck beating against the flesh of her arms; of his lungs expanding and contracting beneath her thighs; of her womanly mound pressing against the hard, warm muscle of his back. And the smell of him—leather and tobacco and pure man.
    Unconsciously, she put her cheek to the back of his head, rubbing it against his hair.
    "Are we going to stand like this all night?"
    Delia came to with a start. She must be heavy, clinging to him like this. Perhaps that was why his voice sounded so strained. With shaking hands, she let go of Ty's neck and reached up. Digging her fingers onto the flat earth above, she pulled herself up and over Ty's head and out of the pit. At the last moment he put his palms on her bottom to give her a boost, and the shock of his hands touching her so intimately caused Delia to groan aloud.
    "Are you all right?" she heard him say.
    She scrambled up on her hands and knees and looked down into Ty's upturned face. There was a light film of sweat on his forehead, although the evening air seemed suddenly to have grown cool. His lips were pressed together into a tight, hard line. She saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed.
    "Give me a hand up," he said.
    She stretched her hand down to him, and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Bracing against her weight, he crab-walked up the slightly sloping side of the pit. He came up over the lip of it faster than she expected, and the sudden release of the pull of his weight caused her body to react like a spring, recoiling backward. She landed on her back and he fell on top of her, his elbows braced on each side of her shoulders.
    Their faces were inches apart, so close she could feel the warm moistness of his breath and notice herself reflected in the dark, dusky blue of his eyes. The sun had set by now, but there was still enough light to see the sweep of his lashes as his lids drifted closed and the gleam of his teeth as his lips parted open.
    Those lips touched hers, lightly at first, brushing back and forth across the soft, swelling fullness of her mouth. Then his mouth pressed down harder and her lips moved, opened beneath his. Her arms went around him, pulling him down onto her. She dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders and felt him shudder. He ran the edge of his tongue along her teeth, slid it deep into her mouth. It was hard and slick and strangely, mysteriously evocative of something, something that made the hollow, burning place low in her belly ache to be filled.
    She arched, rubbing that aching, empty place against the hard bone of his hip, rubbing until he tore his mouth from hers and exhaled sharply, "Christ, Delia."
    He kissed her again, soft feathery kisses, flicking his tongue back and forth over the swell