A Wild Yearning by Penelope Williamson Page B

of her lips, delving in and out between them quickly, teasingly. Moaning, she put her palm against the back of his head and boldly pressed his open mouth down over hers.
    She explored his tongue with her own and then put her tongue full into his mouth. It was hot and sweet and tasted of rum, and nothing, nothing in her entire life had tasted or felt so fine. She knew this kiss was only the beginning. There was more, oh so much more, and she wanted it, all of it. She wanted him.
    He shifted his weight onto his side, and his hand came between them to tug at the laces of her bodice. He tangled the fingers of his other hand in her hair, pulling her head back. His mouth released her lips to slide along her jaw, down her neck. Oh God... the feel of his lips on her neck, so moist and warm, pulsating to match the hard rush of her blood. Her whole body tensed and arched, and one breast came free to fill his hand. His fingers twisted the nipple until it almost hurt, but not quite, and her muscles drew up tighter, her toes curled, and she stopped breathing.
    His hand released her breast and drifted down the length of her. Her petticoat and shift had both ridden up around her thighs, and his fingers touched her bare flesh at the same moment that his mouth closed around her taut nipple. Her body jerked as if he'd seared her with fire—
    She gave a mighty heave, pushing him off her and rolling away from him, sitting up. He lay motionless on the ground for a brief moment, braced on his elbows with his head bowed, breathing heavily. Then he, too, pushed himself up to kneel before her, his hands resting on his thighs.
    He glared at her. "And what am I supposed to do now, Delia-girl? Do you like to be forced? Or are you expecting me to pay for it first?"
    She pulled back and delivered a walloping slap across his face, rocking him on his heels and snapping his head back.
    Anger darkened his face. "Why, you little—"
    His hand shot out to grab her, but she skittered away from him, jumping to her feet. He stood up more slowly, a hard smile tautening his lips. His cheek bore the red imprint of her palm, and a muscle twitched beneath the mark.
    Delia backed away from him, one fist pressed to her breast where her bodice gaped open. "Don't ye touch me, ye bastard!"
    His lips curled into a sneer. "Why not? If you didn't want to be touched, you sure as hell gave a good imitation of wanting it."
    She whirled around, but she had barely taken a step before his arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her back against him.
    She jabbed an elbow into his midriff, so hard he grunted. He pressed his mouth against her ear. "I'm bigger and stronger and meaner than you, and there's no way you can win, Delia-girl, so don't make me prove it."
    "Go t' hell, ye... ye..." She called him the foulest names she knew as she flailed against him, trying to kick his shins with her bare feet.
    "Shit!" He panted as her nails raked across the back of his hand. His arm tightened around her bruised ribs, and a sharp pain jabbed her, so fierce it made her scream.
    Ty instantly relaxed his grip. She stumbled away from him, her hand pressed to her side, her breath sawing in her throat.
    "Delia..." He touched her shoulder, but she flinched away, so he let his hand fall.
    She drew in a deep, sobbing breath. Her lips, her breasts, her whole body burned. She wiped at her mouth with the back of a hand that trembled so badly she might have had a fever. "Oh, I hate ye, Tyler Savitch. Truly I do."
    A nerve jumped once in his cheek, then his face relaxed and he shook his head in mock sorrow. "I know. You hate me and my kisses obviously disgust you. But is that any reason to try to beat the bloody bejesus out of me?"
    "I'll not have ye slakin' yer lust on me, Tyler Savitch." Her voice shook as she jerked the laces of her bodice back together. "Not when it's Mrs. Hooker ye're really hankerin' for."
    He grimaced with exasperation, flicking his tousled hair out of his eyes. "Are you back to