The Cowboy and the Princess by Myrna Mackenzie Page B

hit against your skin. I wait every day to see what each one looks like, what new part of you is revealed.”
    With that, he took her hand, raised it high and placed his lips against the most sensitive inner portion of her wrist, doing terrible, wonderful, exciting things to her body.
    “I can hardly think when you flip your silly little bracelets. They make me crazy. You make me crazy.”
    “You’re making me crazy, too,” she managed to whisper. “Owen, I—” She cupped his jaw in her palm and nudged his face up so she could look into those tortured blue eyes. She knew he didn’t want to do this, that he was just answering the siren’s call that she had been feeling, too. She intended to say so. That’s all she intended to do, but in the next instant that stupid, spontaneous part of her personality that had caused her so much trouble in her lifetime took over and she raised up on her toes and pressed her lips against his.
    The minute her mouth met his, she felt a sense of finally being where she wanted to be, doing what she had been struggling against as well as an intense desire to want more, to do more.
    “Kiss me,” she commanded, not caring if she sounded like a princess for once.
    As if she’d handed out a royal decree and he was obeying, Owen didn’t hesitate. He slanted his mouth over hers. He devoured her, teased her, licked at the seam of her mouth and came inside. His warmth became her warmth, his taste became her taste. He was delicious. She was delirious.
    His wide palms spanned her waist and pulled her tight against the length of his body, introducing her to a heaven she had heretofore never experienced, the just-right fit of a man who was made to please a woman.
    He slid his hand lower down her spine.
    “Yes. Do that,” she demanded as he caressed her.
    He complied and heaven grew brighter, closer…not close enough. Then his other hand cupped her breast and all sensible sensation ceased.
    “This is insanity,” he moaned against her lips. “I shouldn’t even be touching you.” But he didn’t stop.
    “You’re right. I know you’re right, but…touch me.” She practically breathed the words.
    She twisted and plunged her fingers into his hair. Her bracelets slapped against his head.
    As if that jangling touch of ceramic against skin pulled her out of the vortex of sensation that had held her captive, Delfyne became aware of the sounds of the ranch. Lydia was right next door in the kitchen.
    She didn’t want what was happening here with Owen to seem cheap or tawdry or clandestine, but both of them knew it could lead nowhere. And the fact that it was even happening…would she never learn to think before she acted?
    Delfyne suddenly leaned back, bleakness filling her heart. Men who knew she would never be available for the long-term had tried to take what little they could get before. The mere fact that she was off-limits had seemed to be a bonus in their eyes. And now, with Owen, she was so off-limits. They both knew that and…
    “I—you were right. I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
    Owen froze. He eased back. “No. I’m sorry. I should never have touched you, Delfyne. The fact that I did…that’s inexcusable under the circumstances. Andreus asked me to protect and watch over you. I stepped over the line.”
    Despite her own misgivings, his words appalled her. “I’m an adult, Owen. My mistakes are my own.”
    He opened his mouth. She placed her palm over his lips. “I don’t care what task Andreus assigned you. What happens between you and me has nothing to do with Andreus.”
    “All right then, there are a whole lot of other reasons why I shouldn’t have been kissing you.”
    “Agreed.” She backed off and gazed up at him, her arms crossed. “But I get to take half the credit.”
    He frowned.
    She gave him a look she had been trained to give since birth, the one that brooked no argument. She was a royal and she knew how to get her way.
    To her consternation,