Morgan's Rescue by Lindsay McKenna Page B

brow, as he had once called her so often. My darling. She had always been his darling—a beautiful, rebellious survivor of a woman.
          Pilar stirred. She heard Culver's deep voice rustling like leaves nudged by a breeze. Her dreams were lush. Fulfilling. He was touching her, moving his roughened fingers slowly up and down her arm. His breath feathered across her brow and cheek as she heard the endearment, and her heart opened like a flower starved for sunlight as his mouth pressed lightly against her hairline. She loved her dreams, for in them, she could be with Culver again, laughing, playing and loving without the burden of the terrible price they had paid.
          A slight moan came from within her as she felt herself being eased onto her back. Culver was with her, and that was all she needed. His hand was warm and supportive on her shoulder, and she felt him trace her collarbone. Something was wrong with the dream, though. She was wearing clothes. Usually in her dreams, she was naked and standing beside a deep, dark blue pool with rich green grass beneath her feet. Culver was naked, too, drawing her into his massive arms, smiling down at her with that predatory smile that made her blood sing with anticipation.
          "Mi querida. . . . "
          Where did dreams end and reality begin? Pilar could feel his lips bestowing a series of small, moist kisses on her forehead. Each touch of his mouth sent a delicious tingling sensation from her head right through her to her very core. The dream felt so real. More so than ever before. Somewhere in the background, she heard a rooster crowing. Something wasn't right. Pilar dragged herself out of her deep, languid sleep. As she began to surface to awareness, she realized she could still feel Culver's hand on her shoulder, caressing her, and his lips continued to trail along her temple.
          She slowly lifted her lashes. Though still caught up in the remnants of sleep, her vision blurry, she could smell Culver's naturally musky scent. No dream had ever been this real. A small, startled gasp escaped her, and she groggily looked upward—into the burning intensity of Culver's light blue eyes. He studied her in the intervening silence. Her breath caught. He was so close, so close. . . . Wildly aware of the gentle pressure on her shoulder, she felt as if she were drowning in the desire she read in his eyes. His expression was no longer hard or distant. No, this was the man she had once known so intimately. His lips were parted, his vulnerability clear.
          Pilar's body throbbed as if in a fever state. The ache within her grew with each wispy, ragged breath she took as she stared wonderingly up at Culver. He wanted her, with a raw, naked need. She wanted him no less. Dizzied by his nearness, by the power of him as a man, Pilar lay helplessly snared within this embrace, her skin still tingling where he'd kissed her brow. Only inches separated them. Would he kiss her lips? Pilar saw the intent in his eyes as his gaze shifted to her mouth. She felt his grip on her arm tighten further. How badly she wanted his kiss. If kissing Culver would make her world right, Pilar would have surged forward those few inches and kissed him first.
          Then, through the flimsy hut walls, Pilar heard Rane laughing with the wonderfully joyous freedom of a child. No. Her own tough reality came rushing back like a shower of ice water. She couldn't kiss Culver, though every cell in her body screamed out for his mouth's caress. If she did, she would be lost. Her carefully constructed world, which she'd worked so hard to keep in place, would shatter like a crystal glass beneath the blow of a hammer.
          "Please…" she whispered unsteadily, "please don't kiss me, Culver. . . ." Instantly, she saw his eyes narrow dangerously, anger replacing the desire. His hand drew back from her shoulder, and inwardly, she wept for the loss of that cherished sense of effortless