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vulnerable.
    “They’re listening, understand?” He hoped the urgency in his very low whisper would get through. “This is a performance, got it? The better you play your part, the safer we’ll both be tonight. If they don’t think I’m going to use you, they’ll be suspicious as hell. There is only one of me and six of them. All we have to do is pretend.”
    For the first time, she went still and when she turned her head to stare at him, he gave just the briefest nod and prayed if one of the depraved Small brothers was watching he didn’t catch the meaning of it. The lustrous spill of her blond hair caught the faint starlight and the hint of a soft floral scent drifted to his nostrils, the fragrance tantalizing and feminine.
    If things were different, I’d be damned tempted…
    That treacherous thought wasn’t welcome and he shoved it aside. The difference between Cal Riker and the well-bred daughter of a prosperous rancher was like the top of a mountain peak and the bottom of the ocean. Pretty damn big.
    With slow deliberation, he began to unfasten her bodice. That much was necessary if there was an audience, even though he could spare her the rest. When the cloth gaped open, he slid a hand inside and cupped a breast through the material of her chemise. The woman beneath him squirmed in resistance and she spat out, “You bastard! Don’t touch me.”
    In his normal tone, he drawled, “Oh darlin’, just wait. I’m going to do much more than touch you.”
    As respectfully as possible, he simply kept his hand inside her dress and tried to ignore the arousing effect of the full, firm flesh as he cradled it. He could feel the soft peak of the nipple nestled against his palm, and even though he was more interested in both of them staying alive than anything, he felt his cock begin to stiffen. Luckily, from the fire there came a series of chuckles, and he was jarred back into the reality of the moment.

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    Emma Wildes
    Well, he was sure he had just embarrassed the hell out of her by touching her intimately, but it was better than degradation and ill-use at the hands of a band of men with the morals of slinking coyotes.
    Cal slid his hand free and delved under the blanket, acting as if he shoved her skirts up but in reality doing nothing more than running his hand up the outside of her thigh and hip. “Get ready to scream,” he murmured, lowering his head so their mouths nearly touched. “If I was really doing this and you didn’t want it, it would hurt.”
    She closed her eyes and the muscles in her throat rippled as he shifted more solidly on top of her.
    With his hand still under the blanket as if he was unfastening his pants, he gave a low laugh, as if what was happening amused him, instead of the real effect which was being ashamed of his gender in general.
    Even though her skirts and his clothing separated them, when he used his knees to push her legs apart he was rewarded with a very low sob that might even have been genuine. A fake rape at the hands of an infamous outlaw might not be as bad as the real thing, but it was probably still traumatizing as she was being forced—if not into sexual congress—into trust, which was probably not very easy.
    “Now,” he said between his teeth, surging his hips forward so he rocked against her, pelvis to pelvis, as if he had thrust inside her.
    A small scream erupted from her slender throat, carrying just the right edge of despair. Good girl , he thought, grateful she’d kept her nerve. Cal began to move in a rhythm that mimicked sexual intercourse, still holding her hands pinned above her head, wishing he didn’t have a full-blown erection because with their bodies pressed together so intimately, she could probably feel he was hard even through her dress and petticoats.
    When he thought it seemed long enough, he gave a low, shuddering groan and went still. Not his best performance, he thought with cynical amusement, but hopefully it