Her Colorado Man by Cheryl St.john

disturbingly… alarmingly clear.
    He meant to kiss her.

Chapter Nine
    S he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t do anything except experience the rush of heat and longing that warred with helpless panic. For a moment, she felt she really might faint.
    He leaned closer, so close that she smelled his hair and felt his breath against her chin—and then he covered her lips with his. The contact was a warm, soft touch she hadn’t anticipated. A reckless sensation that sent her nerves skittering and her heart pounding. If she wasn’t fainting, then this was real. But how could it be?
    Mariah had never been kissed this way. She’d never been kissed by any man other than her father and brothers. Wes was no comparison!
    Goodness, if this kiss was anything like the ones her sisters and cousins shared with their husbands, she could almost understand their fascination. Perhaps it was because John James separated them or maybebecause Wes’s hands were occupied with his bundle, but the rush of panic she anticipated never developed.
    She parted her lips, only enough to taste him, not enough to make him think she liked this, and eased a little further into the magic of the moment.
    Wes hadn’t meant to kiss her. Of course he’d thought about it before. It was difficult not to think of kissing her. She had the softest-looking lips and the prettiest mouth he’d ever seen. Every time they were alone, thoughts of kissing her invaded his mind. Along with the sobering thought that she couldn’t stand him. He’d been impetuous, but as of yet she hadn’t landed a fist on his chin.
    Why not? She resented him. She took every opportunity to point out the fact that he didn’t belong here.
    Why was she kissing him back?
    There it was. First the slightest movement of her lips beneath his, a whisper of expelled breath, almost a sigh, if he hadn’t known better, and a soft acquiescence…
    Mariah.
    Oh, she was tough, this woman. Tough as nails. Stubborn. Resistant. But at this moment she seemed yielding and responsive. Of course he was taking unfair advantage of the situation. Under ordinary circumstances she would never have been this compliant—this agreeable—this sweet.
    With regret and more than a heaping portion of fortitude, Wes ended the kiss.
    Mariah’s eyelids fluttered open. It took a few minutesfor recognition to register behind her blue eyes. Recognition and shame. What was she ashamed of?
    He straightened. “I’ll tuck him in.”
    He carried John James across the hall. Maneuvering the boy’s noodlelike arms and legs out of his clothing was a challenge he’d never faced, but after several awkward attempts, he managed the task and got him situated on the bed with the covers tucked around him.
    He hadn’t given Mariah a chance to react to that kiss. Maybe he’d been a little apprehensive about what she’d say or do. Maybe he’d been more than a little apprehensive about what he’d say or do. She took every opportunity to rebuff him. He couldn’t blame her, but still it wounded.
    He hadn’t intended to lean in like that and kiss her, but when he’d been so close…close enough to smell her fragrant hair and glimpse the vulnerability in her delicate features, it had just happened.
    He glanced over at Paul, already sleeping soundly, and then extinguished the lamp. Needing a few minutes to compose himself, he took a step back and settled on the nearby chair. Both of the boys’ beds were draped with down coverlets. Thick woven rugs covered the floor. Low shelves under the window held an assortment of toys.
    In the darkness, Wes’s gaze touched on each of their slight forms. His thoughts traveled back over twenty some years to his childhood. To the long, stark room where he’d slept at the foundling home.
    Bedtime had been a dismal affair, especially inwinter when the children bundled in their threadbare stockings and union suits and still weren’t warm. A shrilling bell had clanged in the