the little minx allowed him to pull it right off her back. He flung the thin scrap of wool to the ground and continued chasing her.
He could hear her breathing, harsh and labored, and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He aimed for her skirt, ballooning behind her. It was almost in his grasp when she fell.
He was so close, her sudden plunge sent him tripping down after her. He locked his arms to break his fall, saving her from the full crush of his weight. The jolting impact rattled his teeth.
He blinked against the grit and sputtered as the dust settled over them. She lay facedown on the ground beneath him, and she wasn’t moving. Had he knocked her unconscious?
Rane levered himself off her and lay on his side. Still, she didn’t move.
“ Señorita Clayton? Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
He laid his hand over the point of her shoulder and rolled her to her back...and she came up fighting.
Hissing like a cornered cat, she lashed at him with fists and legs.
After several attempts, he caught her flailing hands and straddled her hips. Leaning forward, he pinned her wrists against the sand.
She wouldn’t give up. With surprising strength, she lunged straight up and tried to buck him off.
The ride she gave him didn’t dislodge him, but it did have a disconcerting effect. The repeated thrust of her pelvis and the sight of all that luscious exposed flesh sent jolts of arousal straight to his groin.
“Stop it!” he commanded.
She didn’t. But she was tiring. He saw the strain on her taut features each time she bore his weight upward.
“ Sangre de Cristo! If you don’t stop that right now...”
Didn’t the fool woman realize what she was doing? The mere sight of her would stimulate any red-blooded man. Not to mention what she was doing with the lower half of her body.
If she wouldn’t listen to reason...
She thrust, and he parried, meeting her halfway. It was almost his undoing, but the contact got her attention. He saw her startled eyes go even wider. And then she went still beneath him.
Their gazes locked—midnight and blue sky—while awareness crackled between them like static before an August storm.
Her full lips parted, her breath coming even harder now.
His own breath had grown ragged and harsh, but not from the exertion.
A tense moment passed.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Prove it,” she said. “Get off me.”
Chapter Two
The feel of the stranger’s body didn’t repulse Evangeline. She’d seen him kill Jed without twitching a hair. Contact with him should have left her cold—cold as the death he so easily dealt. But she wasn’t repulsed. Far from it. Heat invaded her. He radiated warmth, vitality, and all the places where he touched her tingled with awareness.
He hovered so close his breath fanned her flaming cheeks. His smell enveloped her, leather, dust, sunshine, and a hint of some musky spice. All potently male.
Banked fire from his heavy-lidded, dark eyes bore into her. His thighs pressed each side of her hips. The heat of his body penetrated even her skirts and undergarments.
She drew in a shaky breath and slowly relaxed her fisted fingers, trapped beneath his grip against the sand. Would he go back on his word?
No. He released her and rose so abruptly she flinched. She sat up and stared at him in mute surprise.
The stranger walked toward his horse. For a heart-stopping instant she wondered if he intended to leave her there.
No such luck.
Reaching the horse’s side, he pulled a canteen strap from the horn of his saddle. Without sparing her a glance, he uncapped the top and put it to his lips.
Evangeline swallowed hard, suddenly reminded of the cottony dryness clogging her throat. A curious mixture of hatred and longing seeped from her every pore while she watched him drink his fill.
After a moment, he lowered the canteen and swiped the back of his hand beneath his chin. Under a black Stetson, hair as dusky as a moonless night lay over the collar of
He could hear her breathing, harsh and labored, and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He aimed for her skirt, ballooning behind her. It was almost in his grasp when she fell.
He was so close, her sudden plunge sent him tripping down after her. He locked his arms to break his fall, saving her from the full crush of his weight. The jolting impact rattled his teeth.
He blinked against the grit and sputtered as the dust settled over them. She lay facedown on the ground beneath him, and she wasn’t moving. Had he knocked her unconscious?
Rane levered himself off her and lay on his side. Still, she didn’t move.
“ Señorita Clayton? Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
He laid his hand over the point of her shoulder and rolled her to her back...and she came up fighting.
Hissing like a cornered cat, she lashed at him with fists and legs.
After several attempts, he caught her flailing hands and straddled her hips. Leaning forward, he pinned her wrists against the sand.
She wouldn’t give up. With surprising strength, she lunged straight up and tried to buck him off.
The ride she gave him didn’t dislodge him, but it did have a disconcerting effect. The repeated thrust of her pelvis and the sight of all that luscious exposed flesh sent jolts of arousal straight to his groin.
“Stop it!” he commanded.
She didn’t. But she was tiring. He saw the strain on her taut features each time she bore his weight upward.
“ Sangre de Cristo! If you don’t stop that right now...”
Didn’t the fool woman realize what she was doing? The mere sight of her would stimulate any red-blooded man. Not to mention what she was doing with the lower half of her body.
If she wouldn’t listen to reason...
She thrust, and he parried, meeting her halfway. It was almost his undoing, but the contact got her attention. He saw her startled eyes go even wider. And then she went still beneath him.
Their gazes locked—midnight and blue sky—while awareness crackled between them like static before an August storm.
Her full lips parted, her breath coming even harder now.
His own breath had grown ragged and harsh, but not from the exertion.
A tense moment passed.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Prove it,” she said. “Get off me.”
Chapter Two
The feel of the stranger’s body didn’t repulse Evangeline. She’d seen him kill Jed without twitching a hair. Contact with him should have left her cold—cold as the death he so easily dealt. But she wasn’t repulsed. Far from it. Heat invaded her. He radiated warmth, vitality, and all the places where he touched her tingled with awareness.
He hovered so close his breath fanned her flaming cheeks. His smell enveloped her, leather, dust, sunshine, and a hint of some musky spice. All potently male.
Banked fire from his heavy-lidded, dark eyes bore into her. His thighs pressed each side of her hips. The heat of his body penetrated even her skirts and undergarments.
She drew in a shaky breath and slowly relaxed her fisted fingers, trapped beneath his grip against the sand. Would he go back on his word?
No. He released her and rose so abruptly she flinched. She sat up and stared at him in mute surprise.
The stranger walked toward his horse. For a heart-stopping instant she wondered if he intended to leave her there.
No such luck.
Reaching the horse’s side, he pulled a canteen strap from the horn of his saddle. Without sparing her a glance, he uncapped the top and put it to his lips.
Evangeline swallowed hard, suddenly reminded of the cottony dryness clogging her throat. A curious mixture of hatred and longing seeped from her every pore while she watched him drink his fill.
After a moment, he lowered the canteen and swiped the back of his hand beneath his chin. Under a black Stetson, hair as dusky as a moonless night lay over the collar of
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