a minute to penetrate. He was not even hurting her—that
thought took a minute more.
"Who did you call?" Each word was
enunciated clearly. Each syllable brushed his lips over hers, violating her
space intimately, ravishing her with his control and determination.
She could feel the frustration and rage
crackling around him. Beneath it was the fine-wire tension of his fear, the
hair-raising prickle of panic running up his own spine. So many emotions. So
much power held tautly in check through the force of his will, the grit of his
jaw. He could hurt her a hundred ways, but he still didn't move. He just stood
there, hard and powerful and charged.
Her belly contracted. Her breath held. She
didn't fight him; she didn't pull away. She stood on the tingling edge of his
war, and the hair prickled up her arms and up to her shoulders. She could still
feel his anger, and she could still feel the thin layer of steely control
holding it in check.
And for one suspended beat of time, she realized
that she wanted to rip away that barrier. She wanted to strip him raw. She
wanted to wrap her arms tight around his corded neck and see what happened.
"What the hell are you doing?" he
demanded hoarsely.
She looked at him blankly, unaware of the deep,
mesmerizing hunger blooming in her large, round eyes. "Wh-what?"
"God," he said, and his green eyes
darkened a fraction more. His gaze fell to her lips, and suddenly, she was
aware that he wanted her, too. He wanted her fiercely. He wanted her as a man
wanted a woman, with passion and fire and thunderbolts. Holy smoke—no man had
ever looked at her like that before.
She liked it.
"No," he declared abruptly, harshly.
"Dammit, no." He twisted away so fast she had no time to prepare
herself. The cool spring air hit her like a slap in the face, and she was so
stunned that for a dangerous moment tears stung her eyes.
Cain backpedaled fiercely, his steps short and
jerky. His hand came up, knocked off the baseball cap and raked through his
hair so vehemently he should have pulled all the strands out by the roots. Then
he did it again. Then he took a deep breath.
He whirled back again, and the tight look in
his face made her suck in air all over again.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded
angrily. His eyes had darkened to a midnight forest that had never seen the
sun. His chest rose and fell in rapid, bone-deep fury.
She just stared at him, opening and closing her
mouth and not finding any words. She'd wanted to kiss him. Oh God, she still
wanted to kiss him. And she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted … oh, Lord, she
wanted, she wanted, she wanted.
That was it. She was damned. Twenty-seven years
of clean, boring existence wiped out in a mere heartbeat. She would never be
able to look her grandmother in the eye again.
Her gaze fell miserably to his chest. She saw
his collarbone, exposed, broad, and strong. She saw the pounding beat of his
pulse at the base of his neck. And she wanted to press her lips right there and
taste his skin.
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the
earth to open up and swallow her whole.
"Oh, no, you don't," Cain whispered
lowly. Abruptly his rough fingers were beneath her chin, forcing up her head.
"We're beyond the blushing virgin stage," he said crisply. "If
you think you can use your 'feminine wiles' to turn me into a blithering idiot,
think again, Maggie. One more inviting look like that and I'll throw you on the
ground and take what you're offering. But I won't let you go afterward and
nothing will be changed. Do you understand that?"
The blush started at the base of her throat and
crept all the way up to the roots of her hair, then darkened four degrees and
set her skin on fire. She would gladly have curled into a ball and hidden until
nightfall, but his green eyes wouldn't let her escape and his fingers were
still rough and insistent beneath her chin. She took a deep breath. "Uh …
yes. I understand."
"Is that what you want? Are you one of
those
thought took a minute more.
"Who did you call?" Each word was
enunciated clearly. Each syllable brushed his lips over hers, violating her
space intimately, ravishing her with his control and determination.
She could feel the frustration and rage
crackling around him. Beneath it was the fine-wire tension of his fear, the
hair-raising prickle of panic running up his own spine. So many emotions. So
much power held tautly in check through the force of his will, the grit of his
jaw. He could hurt her a hundred ways, but he still didn't move. He just stood
there, hard and powerful and charged.
Her belly contracted. Her breath held. She
didn't fight him; she didn't pull away. She stood on the tingling edge of his
war, and the hair prickled up her arms and up to her shoulders. She could still
feel his anger, and she could still feel the thin layer of steely control
holding it in check.
And for one suspended beat of time, she realized
that she wanted to rip away that barrier. She wanted to strip him raw. She
wanted to wrap her arms tight around his corded neck and see what happened.
"What the hell are you doing?" he
demanded hoarsely.
She looked at him blankly, unaware of the deep,
mesmerizing hunger blooming in her large, round eyes. "Wh-what?"
"God," he said, and his green eyes
darkened a fraction more. His gaze fell to her lips, and suddenly, she was
aware that he wanted her, too. He wanted her fiercely. He wanted her as a man
wanted a woman, with passion and fire and thunderbolts. Holy smoke—no man had
ever looked at her like that before.
She liked it.
"No," he declared abruptly, harshly.
"Dammit, no." He twisted away so fast she had no time to prepare
herself. The cool spring air hit her like a slap in the face, and she was so
stunned that for a dangerous moment tears stung her eyes.
Cain backpedaled fiercely, his steps short and
jerky. His hand came up, knocked off the baseball cap and raked through his
hair so vehemently he should have pulled all the strands out by the roots. Then
he did it again. Then he took a deep breath.
He whirled back again, and the tight look in
his face made her suck in air all over again.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded
angrily. His eyes had darkened to a midnight forest that had never seen the
sun. His chest rose and fell in rapid, bone-deep fury.
She just stared at him, opening and closing her
mouth and not finding any words. She'd wanted to kiss him. Oh God, she still
wanted to kiss him. And she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted … oh, Lord, she
wanted, she wanted, she wanted.
That was it. She was damned. Twenty-seven years
of clean, boring existence wiped out in a mere heartbeat. She would never be
able to look her grandmother in the eye again.
Her gaze fell miserably to his chest. She saw
his collarbone, exposed, broad, and strong. She saw the pounding beat of his
pulse at the base of his neck. And she wanted to press her lips right there and
taste his skin.
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the
earth to open up and swallow her whole.
"Oh, no, you don't," Cain whispered
lowly. Abruptly his rough fingers were beneath her chin, forcing up her head.
"We're beyond the blushing virgin stage," he said crisply. "If
you think you can use your 'feminine wiles' to turn me into a blithering idiot,
think again, Maggie. One more inviting look like that and I'll throw you on the
ground and take what you're offering. But I won't let you go afterward and
nothing will be changed. Do you understand that?"
The blush started at the base of her throat and
crept all the way up to the roots of her hair, then darkened four degrees and
set her skin on fire. She would gladly have curled into a ball and hidden until
nightfall, but his green eyes wouldn't let her escape and his fingers were
still rough and insistent beneath her chin. She took a deep breath. "Uh …
yes. I understand."
"Is that what you want? Are you one of
those
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