Wild Is the Night by Colleen Quinn

on, calm down. You’ll only make it worse.” Somehow, he was comforting her, holding her in his arms, stifling her movements with his body.
    Amanda sobbed like a little girl. She was hot, tired, dirty, and disgusted. Everything hurt, from her hair down to her feet, which were rubbed raw from walking and riding. Her corset dug into her, her muscles screamed, and her legs stung from the brush and the nips of the mustang. Worse, she had let down her guard in front of this man, this southern gunman who’d let her know every step of the way that he could barely tolerate her.
    And now he was holding her, caressing her back in the way one comforted a child, his hand rubbing the tense muscles in her neck as no one had ever done for her before. She couldn’t stop crying, even though she realized in the logical part of her mind that it was ridiculous. Mortified, she cried harder, no longer fighting him, letting all of her pent up feelings spill forth.
    “It’s all right, Amanda, don’t cry. You did just fine, it will be all right.”
    She could hardly hear him, but his voice sounded good, quiet, and reassuring. He smelled good, too, like horses, sweat, and leather, a scent that was foreign to her but intriguing at the same time. Gradually, her sobs died to hic-coughs, and only then did he release her, his one hand still holding her back while the other fished in his pocket and pulled out a calico handkerchief.
    “Blow.” He held the rag to her nose and Amanda obeyed, no longer capable of resistance. Looking up at him through star-spiked lashes, she wiped away the tears that glistened from her cheeks.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I feel so foolish,” she murmured.
    “Why?” The expression in his eyes was kind, without a hint of condescension.
    “I…I got your shirt all wet.” Forlornly, Amanda stared at the once-white shirt, clearly able to discern damp streaks amid the grey dust that clung to him.
    Luke laughed, a sound so infectious she was forced to smile. “I don’t mind. That’s the first hot water to hit my body in days.”
    Amanda smiled, then looked down, puzzled by the warmth in his eyes, those incredible orbs of deep blue that could take her breath away. His hand reached up to her face and tipped her chin toward him, making her look at him once more. The shadows danced from the fire as the night deepened around them, but they didn’t diminish the intensity of those eyes, and when he bent down to kiss her, she couldn’t stop that either.
    He teased her at first, gently brushing her lips with his own, then darting his tongue between her teeth and withdrawing just when she wanted him to proceed. Forgetting everything else, she leaned closer, pulling him to her, wanting to feel his hard body next to hers—wanting him. He seemed to be holding back, but when she leaned into him like that, she felt his shudder and heard his hoarse whisper.
    “My God, Amanda, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
    The kiss deepened, and his tongue took possession of the hot sweetness of her mouth, in direct contrast to what he was saying. Amanda pressed closer, amazed at the flow of feelings that set her body on fire. He had yet to touch her, but she was beginning to crave his hands on her body. Somehow, with the way his mouth took hers, and his tongue teased her, penetrating and withdrawing, he was making her desire him with a passion she didn’t know she possessed.
    She made a soft noise in the back of her throat and he leaned down, pressing feverish kisses along her neck. His hands caressed her, soothing the aching muscles, making her as weak as spooned jelly. His hips pressed against hers, and Amanda became aware of the hardness of him, of a jutting male part of him that seemed to be seeking entrance to the softness of her that was on fire for him. Amanda unabashedly gripped him closer, loving the feel of it all, becoming dizzy with sensation and need.
    “Do you like that?” His hand traced down from her throat to cup