my very best to please you."
No question about that, though it also left her with a powerful frustration, a need that built until she'd do almost anything to satisfy it. Like rip his clothes off and have her wicked way with him. She possessed a general idea how to go about that sort of wickedness, if little practical knowledge. But then, she had little practical knowledge of cowboying skills and look how well she'd taken to them.
He reached the twenty-third freckle. She waited, barely breathing, curious to see what he'd do next. She didn't wait long. He took her nipple between his teeth and gently, slowly ran his tongue across the hardened tip. Her breath exploded from her lungs and she dug her fingers into his hair, holding him tight against her breast.
"Do that again," she pleaded.
He did. He gave it his full attention before turning to her other breast and repeating the process. Unable to explain her actions, she parted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He sank against her, locked tightly into the vee of her thighs. There were too many clothes between them. He shifted against her, the abrasive rub of masculine against feminine driving her insane with need. She lifted her hips against his helpless thrust. He cupped her breasts again, teasing the tight buds, before renewing his acquaintance with her mouth, kissing her with a delicious desperation. And all the while, he shifted against her, rocking to a rhythm as old as mankind.
She didn't know what might have happened if her enthusiasm for the embrace didn't override common sense. A sharp jab of pain reminded her of her less-than-perfect physical condition and she winced.
Holt's reaction was instantaneous. He rolled off her. His breath escaped in a gusty sigh and he swore beneath his breath. Did he regret his actions? She studied his shuttered expression, searching for a clue to his thoughts. She came up empty.
He glanced over at her, a lock of gilt-edged hair tumbling across his brow. "I hurt you. I'm sorry."
She shrugged awkwardly. "Don't be."
In a swift, easy move he gained his feet. "Time to get you cleaned up." She started to stand, but he shook his head in warning. "Sit still."
"I can do it," she insisted.
He raised a single eyebrow, pinning her with a stern, cool gaze. She sensed the return of his anger. But who was he angry at? Her, for her free fall into the hay wagon? Or himself, for having followed his more basic instincts? Probably a bit of both. Not that it mattered. She'd receive the brunt of his fury, regardless. She reached for the remnants of her shirt, pulling the tattered scrap across her chest, abruptly self-conscious of her nudity beneath his annoyed appraisal.
"You don't listen too good, do you, Tex?" he snapped. "Let me make myself crystal clear. Stir at your peril."
Considering how every muscle in her body protested the slightest movement, she decided he'd offered some sound advice. She lay back down. She ached from her belly flop into the mud puddle. But more painful still, she ached with a need so great it hurt to breathe. She suspected the latter would be the more lasting of the two.
Holt disappeared through a doorway and a moment later she heard the sound of running water. Unexpected tears filled her eyes and she shut them, fighting an acute sense of despair. Perhaps her injuries were worse than she'd suspected. How else to explain this sudden weakness? A moment later, Holt lifted her in his arms.
"Okay. Let's go," Holt said, crossing to the bathroom. There he thrust her, fully clothed, into the shower.
"Oh, good golly," she said with a sigh, enjoying the flood of warm water that poured over her. Her thick coating of dust turned rapidly to mud, pooling at her feet. Bits of hay dripped from her hair.
"Tex," Holt called. "It's time we discussed this problem you have with ropes."
"You'd like to discuss it here? Now?"
"Here and now. Help yourself to shampoo and soap."
"Thanks, I will." Considering what they'd just been
No question about that, though it also left her with a powerful frustration, a need that built until she'd do almost anything to satisfy it. Like rip his clothes off and have her wicked way with him. She possessed a general idea how to go about that sort of wickedness, if little practical knowledge. But then, she had little practical knowledge of cowboying skills and look how well she'd taken to them.
He reached the twenty-third freckle. She waited, barely breathing, curious to see what he'd do next. She didn't wait long. He took her nipple between his teeth and gently, slowly ran his tongue across the hardened tip. Her breath exploded from her lungs and she dug her fingers into his hair, holding him tight against her breast.
"Do that again," she pleaded.
He did. He gave it his full attention before turning to her other breast and repeating the process. Unable to explain her actions, she parted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He sank against her, locked tightly into the vee of her thighs. There were too many clothes between them. He shifted against her, the abrasive rub of masculine against feminine driving her insane with need. She lifted her hips against his helpless thrust. He cupped her breasts again, teasing the tight buds, before renewing his acquaintance with her mouth, kissing her with a delicious desperation. And all the while, he shifted against her, rocking to a rhythm as old as mankind.
She didn't know what might have happened if her enthusiasm for the embrace didn't override common sense. A sharp jab of pain reminded her of her less-than-perfect physical condition and she winced.
Holt's reaction was instantaneous. He rolled off her. His breath escaped in a gusty sigh and he swore beneath his breath. Did he regret his actions? She studied his shuttered expression, searching for a clue to his thoughts. She came up empty.
He glanced over at her, a lock of gilt-edged hair tumbling across his brow. "I hurt you. I'm sorry."
She shrugged awkwardly. "Don't be."
In a swift, easy move he gained his feet. "Time to get you cleaned up." She started to stand, but he shook his head in warning. "Sit still."
"I can do it," she insisted.
He raised a single eyebrow, pinning her with a stern, cool gaze. She sensed the return of his anger. But who was he angry at? Her, for her free fall into the hay wagon? Or himself, for having followed his more basic instincts? Probably a bit of both. Not that it mattered. She'd receive the brunt of his fury, regardless. She reached for the remnants of her shirt, pulling the tattered scrap across her chest, abruptly self-conscious of her nudity beneath his annoyed appraisal.
"You don't listen too good, do you, Tex?" he snapped. "Let me make myself crystal clear. Stir at your peril."
Considering how every muscle in her body protested the slightest movement, she decided he'd offered some sound advice. She lay back down. She ached from her belly flop into the mud puddle. But more painful still, she ached with a need so great it hurt to breathe. She suspected the latter would be the more lasting of the two.
Holt disappeared through a doorway and a moment later she heard the sound of running water. Unexpected tears filled her eyes and she shut them, fighting an acute sense of despair. Perhaps her injuries were worse than she'd suspected. How else to explain this sudden weakness? A moment later, Holt lifted her in his arms.
"Okay. Let's go," Holt said, crossing to the bathroom. There he thrust her, fully clothed, into the shower.
"Oh, good golly," she said with a sigh, enjoying the flood of warm water that poured over her. Her thick coating of dust turned rapidly to mud, pooling at her feet. Bits of hay dripped from her hair.
"Tex," Holt called. "It's time we discussed this problem you have with ropes."
"You'd like to discuss it here? Now?"
"Here and now. Help yourself to shampoo and soap."
"Thanks, I will." Considering what they'd just been
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