Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) by Paula Scott Page A

eyes of a large gray wolf. She scooted away from the water, not taking her gaze off the threatening animal across the creek. When the wolf didn’t move, she slowly rose to her feet, backing up as best she could in the tangled vines that matted the creek bed.
    When strong arms wrapped around her from behind, she screamed in terror.
    The wolf turned and disappeared into the dense undergrowth. Roman spun her around, tucking her tightly against his chest.
    “The wolf. . . where is it?”
    “He’s gone. A lone wolf usually will not attack unless something’s wrong with it. Like you, he was just satisfying his thirst.”
    “This place is so wild.”
    “Si,” he agreed. “You must stay where I can always protect you.” His hands began to explore her back under her unbound hair. Through the shirt, the heat of his hands seared her skin as if nothing shielded her body from him.
    “I am not your wife yet.” She leaned sharply away from him.
    He tightened his hold on her, his hands pressing her closer to his chest.
    “You have already taken what only belongs to a husband. Do not take any more from me.”
    “Truth be known, I have taken very little from you, Señorita Tyler.”
    “My father will not allow you to misuse me. He is an honorable man.”
    “Your father has already proved he has no honor whatsoever. I would kill a man for carrying my daughter away. Your father has already returned to his brandy. He and my uncle are probably drunk by now. Perhaps gambling over whether or not I will take your virtue tonight.”
    “You wouldn’t dare.”
    “Don’t underestimate me, dove.” He ran his long, dark fingers over her ribcage, his thumbs caressing her sides. The boy’s shirt offered her up so freely. Shivers raced down her spine at his daring touch. Her stomach swirled wildly. Fear made her head spin. When he lowered his warm mouth to her neck, running his lips along her throbbing pulse, she stopped breathing. When his hand reached for her breast, her world went dark.
    He poured water from the creek onto her lips to bring her out of her dead faint. Holding her in his lap, he scooped more water onto her face. For a moment, she remained disoriented, unsure of where she was and what had happened. He carried her away from the water, placing her on a bed of cushiony grape vines. When she tried to escape, he pinned her there with his body, yanking the cotton shirt free from the waistband of her pants, exposing the pale skin of her midriff as his lips sought hers once more.
    A crow squawked in a tree above their heads. The big black bird startled Roman. He stopped kissing her and looked up at the incensed bird.
    “Please,” she pleaded. “Let me go.” Tears filled her eyes.
    He rose to his feet in a rush, hauling her up with him. He didn’t say anything, just held her protectively in his arms, smoothing down her tangled hair with trembling hands. She could tell he was shaken. She was shaken too.
    The crow squawked again before flying away.
    The sound of rushing water was the only sound in the grove now. “I’m sorry, pequeña . I don’t know what came over me. The spirit of the wolf, perhaps.” He reached out to retrieve a leaf caught in her hair.
    She shied away from his touch. When he released her, she hurried out of his arms.
    In a flash, he grabbed hold of the waistband of her pants, yanking her back into his embrace, a wounded look on his face. He took the leaf from her hair at leisure and then leaned his forehead against hers in regret. “I said I was sorry. I won’t hurt you, Rachel.”
    “You have already hurt me.”
    Cursing in Spanish, he released her. He strode over to the stream. There at the water, he yanked off his shirt and began bathing his face and upper body as if he was a man on fire. His torso was much lighter than his tanned arms and neck, all of him corded in hard muscle. Great bruises and broken skin marred his back. For heaven’s sake, he was so appealing yet so injured. She’d had no