Saddle Up by Victoria Vane Page A

laughed. “Really?”
    â€œYes. Just because we view sex differently doesn’t imply that it’s meaningless. We believe just the opposite: that the joining of two bodies forges a deeper connection between their souls. There are no walls in the moment of release, Miranda.” He didn’t add that his walls always came back up following the afterglow.
    â€œYou really believe that?” she scoffed.
    â€œYes. Sometimes words are inadequate between a man and a woman. They obstruct the essential truth. Sex is honesty. Pleasure is truth.” Yet sex was really only a transitory escape from loneliness.
    â€œDon’t play with me,” she whispered. “I don’t like games—or being the brunt of jokes.”
    â€œYou think I’m playing games?”
    â€œI think I’m convenient . If we were anyplace else, you wouldn’t look twice at me.”
    She was wrong. He had noticed her before, and she’d rebuffed him . The rejection had surprised as much as stung him.
    â€œThat’s not true,” he said. “Maybe you don’t remember the first time we met?”
    â€œYes, I remember all of it,” she answered.
    â€œAnd?” he prompted.
    â€œI didn’t trust you.”
    â€œWhy not? You thought I only wanted to use you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd now?” he asked.
    She hesitated. “I don’t know. You made it obvious from the start that you didn’t want me around. I don’t understand the sudden turnabout. I’m not sure what I think.”
    â€œAs I said before, you think too much.”
    * * *
    Miranda was freezing cold, but she was also terrified. Of him. Of the feelings he’d roused in her.
    He reached out his hand, beckoning softly. “Don’t be foolish, Miranda. Come and get warm.”
    Tamping down her trepidations, she rose and settled herself lengthwise beside him. His arm came around her, wrapping her in his blanket, and instantly cocooning her in his body heat. He pulled her closer against him and nuzzled into her hair. “I don’t understand you at all, Miranda…but I like how you smell.”
    She relaxed. “You do?”
    â€œYes. I do.” He burrowed into her neck, his breath hot and his lips soft. “Very much.”
    She whispered back, “If we’re making confessions, I like how you feel.”
    â€œIs that so?” He rolled her onto her back so that his body lay on top of hers. His mouth stretched into a slow smile. “Is there a particular part of me you like?”
    Her face heated. If she’d had any doubt his desire was real, the proof was palpable through two layers of thick denim. “Um…maybe that didn’t come out quite right. I meant that you make me feel safe.”
    â€œSafe?” His thumb skirted softly over her lips. “Maybe you aren’t as safe as you think.” He added in a tone that made her shiver with anticipation, “I think perhaps Goldilocks is about to discover that the old woman is really a big bad wolf.”
    â€œYou’re mixing up the stories, Keith. Goldilocks was with the three bears. Little Red Riding Hood was with the wolf.”
    â€œYou make films your way, and let me tell the stories,” he said. “Storytelling is in my blood, after all.”
    â€œAll right, then. Have it your way. Tell me this story about Goldilocks and the Big Bad Wolf.”
    He flashed a big, bad lupine grin. “My version begins much the same as what you have heard before, but when Goldilocks enters her grandmother’s tepee, she exclaims, ‘Huttsi, what large hands you have!’
    â€˜All the better to touch you with, my child,’ the wolf replies.
    â€˜Huttsi, what a big mouth you have!’
    â€˜All the better to kiss you with, my dear!’
    â€˜Huttsi, what a long tongue you have!’
    â€˜All the better to lick every inch of you, my sweet.’ ”
    His eyes gleamed