man complained about the fit of his boot, you wouldn’t call it bitching.”
He took a step closer and leaned down. This close, his scowl and the red blotches on his cheeks made him look all the more formidable. “If wanting to keep my women safe makes me a Neanderthal, then—”
Martha’s heart lurched. Did he realize what he just said? “My women?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘my women’.”
“I meant it in the communal sense of the word. As your governor—”
“Sure.” She couldn’t help the silly grin that stretched her lips.
“And stop smiling.” His expression grew blacker. “How am I to punish you if you keep smiling at me?”
That wiped the grin away. Anger puffed her chest out. “You’re going to punish me? Is that what Akron’s doing right now to Kirsten?”
“He’s likely taking a strip off her wide ass as we speak.”
“Because she’s his woman?”
Cantor bit back an oath, and his lips thinned.
“So tell me, are you mad because I disobeyed you?” Martha asked, dropping her voice to a husky whisper as she leaned into his chest. “Or are you mad because you were concerned about me—my safety?”
“What’s the bloody difference?”
Martha backed away. She figured she’d pushed him far enough. He was getting so angry the tips of his ears were red.
“Stand still.”
“Why would I do that? You planning to take a strip off my hide, too?”
“Damn right,” he said reaching for the belt at his waist.
The crotch of Martha’s breeches immediately dampened. This was a game she never thought she’d play out with the stiff and proper Governor. She lifted her chin in direct challenge. “Do you think I’ll stand for that? I’m not yours to command.”
Cantor stepped forward. “You’re mine all right. My greatest pain in the ass.” He pulled the belt from its loops as he stalked her. “My crack-brained—”
Martha darted away, dropping her bag to flee into the forest with the sounds of his pursuit close on her heels. She hid behind a tree, feinting right when he circled left, then left to evade him, and she was off again, running deeper into the thicket, fear and desire making her breathless. She wanted him to catch her, but wanted his pursuit—she’d waited so long for this moment.
His large hand closed over her shoulder and she shrieked. The ground rose up to meet her as he tackled her, rolling her in the carpet of leaves, until she lay beneath him.
“You’ve jeopardized this mission. Wasted valuable time with your little game.” He rose up, reaching for her hands.
She shoved him hard, toppling him to the side, and tried to crawl away. But he was too strong and his body covered hers again, pressing her into the soft bed of leaves.
Martha writhed and bucked beneath him, her excitement growing with her struggles. She pounded his shoulders and his back, and kicked at his shins.
He wrestled her for dominance, rolling and cursing until finally he pinned her to the ground, his legs trapping hers beneath him, his loin pressed to hers to hold her hips still. With quiet efficiency he bound her hands together above her head with his belt, cinching it tight.
Her shirt had worked its way free of her loose breeches and his clothing abraded the bare skin of her belly. He lifted his torso off her and roughly shoved her overlarge pants down her hips, binding her legs in the twisted fabric.
Martha was helpless against his superior strength—and loving it. When he’d subdued her struggles to his satisfaction, he looked back up at her. The black passion written on his face, took her breath away.
Cantor rose and lifted her from the ground and carried her like a bag of potatoes to a fallen tree. There, he seated himself and dragged her over his lap, face down, a heavy arm in the center of her back pinning her to his thighs.
Not ready to end the battle, she squirmed and wriggled all the while excitement beat a tattoo in her veins. When the first loud slap of his palm met
He took a step closer and leaned down. This close, his scowl and the red blotches on his cheeks made him look all the more formidable. “If wanting to keep my women safe makes me a Neanderthal, then—”
Martha’s heart lurched. Did he realize what he just said? “My women?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘my women’.”
“I meant it in the communal sense of the word. As your governor—”
“Sure.” She couldn’t help the silly grin that stretched her lips.
“And stop smiling.” His expression grew blacker. “How am I to punish you if you keep smiling at me?”
That wiped the grin away. Anger puffed her chest out. “You’re going to punish me? Is that what Akron’s doing right now to Kirsten?”
“He’s likely taking a strip off her wide ass as we speak.”
“Because she’s his woman?”
Cantor bit back an oath, and his lips thinned.
“So tell me, are you mad because I disobeyed you?” Martha asked, dropping her voice to a husky whisper as she leaned into his chest. “Or are you mad because you were concerned about me—my safety?”
“What’s the bloody difference?”
Martha backed away. She figured she’d pushed him far enough. He was getting so angry the tips of his ears were red.
“Stand still.”
“Why would I do that? You planning to take a strip off my hide, too?”
“Damn right,” he said reaching for the belt at his waist.
The crotch of Martha’s breeches immediately dampened. This was a game she never thought she’d play out with the stiff and proper Governor. She lifted her chin in direct challenge. “Do you think I’ll stand for that? I’m not yours to command.”
Cantor stepped forward. “You’re mine all right. My greatest pain in the ass.” He pulled the belt from its loops as he stalked her. “My crack-brained—”
Martha darted away, dropping her bag to flee into the forest with the sounds of his pursuit close on her heels. She hid behind a tree, feinting right when he circled left, then left to evade him, and she was off again, running deeper into the thicket, fear and desire making her breathless. She wanted him to catch her, but wanted his pursuit—she’d waited so long for this moment.
His large hand closed over her shoulder and she shrieked. The ground rose up to meet her as he tackled her, rolling her in the carpet of leaves, until she lay beneath him.
“You’ve jeopardized this mission. Wasted valuable time with your little game.” He rose up, reaching for her hands.
She shoved him hard, toppling him to the side, and tried to crawl away. But he was too strong and his body covered hers again, pressing her into the soft bed of leaves.
Martha writhed and bucked beneath him, her excitement growing with her struggles. She pounded his shoulders and his back, and kicked at his shins.
He wrestled her for dominance, rolling and cursing until finally he pinned her to the ground, his legs trapping hers beneath him, his loin pressed to hers to hold her hips still. With quiet efficiency he bound her hands together above her head with his belt, cinching it tight.
Her shirt had worked its way free of her loose breeches and his clothing abraded the bare skin of her belly. He lifted his torso off her and roughly shoved her overlarge pants down her hips, binding her legs in the twisted fabric.
Martha was helpless against his superior strength—and loving it. When he’d subdued her struggles to his satisfaction, he looked back up at her. The black passion written on his face, took her breath away.
Cantor rose and lifted her from the ground and carried her like a bag of potatoes to a fallen tree. There, he seated himself and dragged her over his lap, face down, a heavy arm in the center of her back pinning her to his thighs.
Not ready to end the battle, she squirmed and wriggled all the while excitement beat a tattoo in her veins. When the first loud slap of his palm met
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