Courageous. Diana Palmer
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about animal waste, which was organic and quite effective. He chuckled. “I see.”
“Mrs. Pendleton sent me the bulbs. They’re nice ones, from her own garden. You don’t really mind …?”
He shook his head. “Amuse yourself. I don’t care.”
“Dad’s gone to the market,” she said, wide-eyed. “Would you like to ravish me while he’s away?”
He glared at her. This was her usual way of teasing, and it was beginning to get to him in ways he didn’t like. “No, I would not,” he said firmly.
She glared back. “Honestly, you’re stuck back in the ice age! Everybody does it these days!”
“Including you?”
“Of course, me,” she scoffed. “I’ve had sex continuously since I was fourteen.”
His eyes were growing darker. He was shocked and trying not to show it. Peg didn’t appear to him as a rounder. Was he that bad a judge of character?
“It’s no big deal!” she exclaimed. “You are such a throwback!”
He turned on his heel and stormed off into the barn. He didn’t like thinking that Peg was promiscuous. He was too old-fashioned to think it was a laudable lifestyle, regardless of how many people did.
She followed him into the barn, waving her trowel in the air. “Listen, people don’t have to abide by ancient doctrines that have no place in modern society,” she burst out. “There isn’t one show on television that has people getting married before they indulge!”
He whirled, glaring. “That’s exactly why I don’t watch television.”
“You’re just the kind of man who thinks women should be saints and go around in frilly clothes and be seen yet not heard!”
“And you’re the sort who thinks they should dress like streetwalkers and throw out profanity with every other breath!”
She tossed the trowel away and went right up to him. “I threaten you, don’t I,” she teased. “You’re mad for me, but you think I’m too young and innocent …!”
The sudden pause was because, in a lightning-fast move that she hadn’t anticipated, he backed her right into the barn wall, slammed his powerful body down on hers and kissed her with an expertise and insistence that made her heart stop dead.
“Damn you,” he ground out against her mouth, and both hands went to her hips, grinding them into the sudden arousal that was as unexpected as it was painful.
She was sorry she’d made such claims. She was scared to death. She’d never even been kissed except once by a boy who was even more bashful than she’d been, and the kiss had been almost repulsive to her. Since she’d had feelings for Grange, she hadn’t even dated.
Now here he was taking her up on her stupid offer, and thinking she was experienced and she didn’t even know what to do. Worse, he was scaring her to death. She’d never felt an aroused man’s body. It was oddly threatening, like the lips that were forcing hers apart in a kiss that was years too adult for her lied-about worldly experience.
Her small hands were against his shirtfront, pushing. She tried to turn her face aside. “Ple … please,” she choked out when she managed to escape his devouring mouth for a few seconds.
His head was spinning. She tasted like the finest French champagne. She felt like heaven against him. She was soft and warm and delicately scented, and she aroused him as no other woman ever had in his whole life.
She’d had men. She bragged about it. But as sanity came back in a cold rush, he became aware of her nervous hands on his chest, of her whispered, frantic plea. He lifted his head and looked point-blank into her wide, soft green eyes. And he knew then, knew for certain, that she’d never had a man in her young life.
“Stand still!” he bit off when she tried to move her hips away from the press of his.
The urgency in his tone stilled her. She swallowed, hard, and swallowed again, while he slowly moved back from her, his hands clenched as he turned away. A visible shudder went through his straight back.
She barely registered it. She was shaking. She leaned back against the barn wall, her arms crossed over her breasts. They felt oddly tight and swollen. She felt swollen someplace else, too, but she didn’t know why. She should have listened more carefully in health class instead of reading books on archaeology while the teacher droned on and on about contraception, and the clinical details. Boring. Theory and practice, she decided, were sometimes unrelated, it seemed.
After a minute, Grange drew in a long, steadying breath, and turned back to Peg.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. She was flushed and nervous and shattered.
Her vulnerability took the edge off his temper. He moved back to her, cupped her oval face in his big, warm hands and forced her eyes to meet his.
“You little liar,” he chided, but he was smiling. He didn’t even seem to be mad.
She swallowed once more.
He bent and kissed her eyelids shut, tasting salty tears. “Don’t cry,” he murmured tenderly. “You’re safe.”
Her lips trembled. The caress was out of her experience. It was so much more poignant than the hard, insistent kiss that had come without respect or tenderness. This was a world away from that.
Her hands flattened against his soft flannel shirt, feeling the muscle and warmth and heavy heartbeat under it. She savored the feel of his lips on her skin.
“And now we know that making false claims and being aggressive can lead to misunderstandings, don’t we?” he murmured.
“Yes, well, we should have paid more attention in health class instead of covertly reading archaeology journals,” she said unsteadily.
He lifted his head. “Archaeology?”
She managed a weak smile. “I like to dig in the dirt. Planting things, digging up artifacts, it’s sort of similar, isn’t it?”
He laughed softly. “If you say so.”
She searched his eyes, feeling vulnerable. “You’re not mad?”
He shook his head. “Ashamed, a bit, though.”
“Why? It was my fault,” she pointed out bluntly. “I was really out of line. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “Me, too.”
She peered up at him. “You still want to take me to the ball, don’t you?” she worried aloud.
His eyes narrowed. “More than anything,” he replied, and his voice was like deep velvet.
She flushed. She smiled. “Okay!”
He kissed her nose. “Get out of here. I’ve got to check on my heifer.”
“Cow,” she corrected. “She’s a cow, now that she’s a mother.”
His eyebrows arched.
“Sorry.”
He chuckled. “I have to check on my cow,” he corrected.
She grinned and started to leave.
“Peg.”
She turned. Her name on his lips had a magical sound.
“My father was a minister,” he said quietly, and watched her flush as she recalled the things she’d spouted off to him.
“Oh, gosh,” she groaned.
“He wasn’t a fanatic,” he added. “But he had a very solid take on what life should be, as opposed to what other people thought was permissible. He said that the only thing that separated human beings from animals was the nobility of spirit that went with respect for all life. Religion,