Cowboy Undercover. Alice Sharpe
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drew her closer and put his arms around her. She fit perfectly, as he knew from experience, and though he swore to himself he would not react to her closeness or the way she clung to him, he could feel his body stirring.
“I’m so scared,” she whispered against his neck.
He drew back to look at her face, but his gaze landed on her mouth, and mindful of her injuries, he leaned forward and gently touched her lips with his.
They’d kissed a few times several months earlier. To him, her lips had been everything delicious and tasty in the world. Honey and scotch, summer nights, a good dinner. He’d wanted to bed her with a vengeance and had worked on seducing her for weeks, but one torrid fifteen minutes had led to her bolting away from him for good.
So what? There were more women in the world than men and he’d known his share. Frankly, he seemed to have a knack for finding women who wanted what he wanted—a satisfying romp in the hay, no heartstrings engaged. His father had been married seven times. Seven times! Women came and went, the trick was not to block the door.
And then came Lily.
Tricky, complicated, troubled, on the run, dangerous.
She pulled away from him and studied his face. “Thank you for rescuing me from the closet.”
“You’re welcome.” He touched her good cheek. Her skin was so soft.
She nodded briskly and disengaged herself from his embrace. He longed to keep his fingers linked behind her back, longed to hold her in his arms all night. He knew she was distracted and sick with worry and so was he... Oh, give it up, his brain scolded, and he withdrew his hands.
“We need to talk to those survivalists ourselves,” he said as they returned to the room. He looked away from the bed, which suddenly seemed to take up almost all the floor space. She sat down in the chair in front of the table and shook her head. “I know. It’s wild land up there, people are scattered and many are suspicious of outsiders. I guess we start by finding White Cliff.”
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