The Highest Bidder. Maureen Child
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tipped her head back, exposing her neck, instinctively angling her hips.
He kissed her tender skin, while his rhythm stabilized then accelerated, and her limbs wrapped fully around him.
He pushed a pillow beneath the small of her back, and the earth shifted to where they were joined.
He sped up, thrusting harder. His muscles tightened. His kisses grew deeper and more frantic.
He groaned deeply against her lips. “I’m sorry.”
Then his hand went between them, touching her intimately. Stars exploded inside her head, melting down in the black desert sky. Her muscles contracted and unheard-of pleasure ricocheted to every corner of her body.
She struggled to catch her breath.
Tariq was heavy, their bodies slick everywhere they touched. But she didn’t want him to move.
No wonder he’d been impatient.
Why hadn’t somebody told her?
Why had they scared her?
Tariq slowly lifted his head, smoothing back her dark hair, tenderly kissing her swollen mouth.
“Is it always like that?” she managed.
A low rumble of laughter moved through his chest. “It’s never like that.”
As her heart thudded deep, over the curve of his scarred shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the Gold Heart statue. The Royal Han marble was a rich glow in the moonlight. The woman still smiled. But Laila could swear the smile had changed from serene to satisfied.
Carter backed her up against the wall.
He murmured all the things they were going to do in this room, and Macy’s face flamed as hot as her body burned. The dress was an easy target for a man with roaming hands, and Carter made sure he touched every part of her. His sweet assault made her moan his name over and over, and she knew they’d never make it to the bed.
As his kisses moved down her throat she arched for him and closed her eyes to the sensual sensation.
He stopped for a moment and she slumped against him, breathless.
“Is…that…all…you…got?”
A deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his throat before he lifted her into the circle of his arms and carried her to the bed. “Just wait, sweet darlin’. Just wait.”
About the Author
Award-winning author CHARLENE SANDS writes bold, passionate, heart-stopping heroes and always…really good men! She’s a lover of all things romantic, having married her high school sweetheart, Don. She is the proud recipient of a Readers’ Choice Award, and double recipient of a Booksellers’ Best Award, having written twenty-eight romances to date, both contemporary and historical Western. Charlene is a member of Romance Writers of America and belongs to the Orange County and Los Angeles chapters of RWA, where she volunteers as the Published Authors’ Liaison.
When not writing, she loves movie dates with her hubby, playing cards with her children, reading romance, great coffee, Pacific beaches, country music and anything chocolate. She also loves to hear from her readers. You can reach Charlene for fun stuff, contests and more at www.charlenesands.com or write to her at PO Box 4883, West Hills, CA 91308, USA. You can find her on the Harlequin Authors Blog, and on Facebook, too.
In memory and honor of Sandra Hyatt, a friend and fellow Desire author.
I will always remember your sweet, friendly smile and your kind heart.
Prologue
Wild River Ranch, Texas
He struck a match on his boot heel and guided the flame toward the cigarette clenched between his lips. With one long pull of breath, the tip blazed to life. Carter McCay closed his eyes as images of the fallen soldiers who’d fought alongside him flashed in his mind. He took one drag…one honorary inhalation. The ritual was agreed upon by those lucky enough to have come home, all those years ago. On the first day of every month, each one of his comrades did the same. Somewhere out there, twenty-three former marines were lighting up and remembering Afghanistan.
The subtle rush of the river pulled him out of those thoughts. He leaned a shoulder against an ancient oak and nestled into the tree’s grooved bark, watching the rhythmic, nearly perfect ripples of Wild River. The water wasn’t as wild as its namesake today, Carter mused. It was quiet and peaceful here, shaded from the hot Texas sun.
The dog plopped down at his feet and whimpered long and loud as the trail of smoke met his upturned wet nose.
Carter pushed his Stetson higher on his forehead and looked into questioning, soulful eyes. He couldn’t blame the dog for being wary of smoke. The dog saw too much, knew too much. “You followed me up here, pal.”
Carter tossed the cigarette and crushed it into the ground with his boot, then lowered to a crouch beside the golden retriever. He gave him a pat on the head. The dog sandwiched his head between his front paws and gave a big sigh.
“Yeah, I know, boy. You’ve had it tough.” Carter ruffled Rocky’s furry neck, damn glad he’d rescued the hound from his father’s place. The home where Carter had grown up wasn’t fit for a dog.
His cell phone pinged. Carter pulled his iPhone from his back pocket and gave a quick look. A text message from Roark Waverly appeared on the front screen. He hadn’t heard from his former marine buddy in months. But he wasn’t surprised that he’d leave a message today of all days. “Probably just lit one up, too,” he muttered, glad to hear from his friend. But as he read on, Roark had something entirely different to say. Something Carter had to read twice.
C. Ran into some trouble. In hiding. Get word to Ann Richardson at Waverly’s. The Gold Heart statue is not stolen. I can’t trust Waverly’s networks. R.B.
Carter frowned. What the hell what that all about?
After his tour of duty, Roark had gotten heavily involved in running around seven continents procuring valuable artifacts to sell at Waverly’s auction house based out of New York. Roark had been in some tough binds through the years, and normally the marine could take care of himself just fine. Carter had been on the receiving end of his friend’s quick thinking when they’d been on street patrol in a small settlement in Afghanistan. Roark had discovered that the car Carter was about to inspect was booby trapped. He’d shoved Carter out of the way before his hand met with the door handle, and Carter knew then that he owed Roark his life.
“C’mon, Rocky,” he said, heading toward his Jeep without a glance back. He knew his father’s dog would follow. He was as loyal as they come. “I’ve got some investigating to do.”
Two hours later, his cousin Brady knocked on his front door and Carter led him into the great room. The room meant for entertaining was one of many improvements he’d made to the house after he’d inherited Wild River Ranch from his uncle Dale. Over the years and after a little luck and a lot of hard work, Carter had turned his uncle’s small working ranch into a stellar operation that competed equally with elite Texas cattle barons.
He handed Brady a shot glass of whiskey. “Here you go, cuz.”
Brady grinned. “I know it’s five o’clock somewhere, but tell me, why are we drinking this early in the afternoon?”
“Because thanks to you, I’m heading to New York tomorrow.”
“Me? What do Brady McCay and New York have in common?”
Carter couldn’t tell him about Roark’s cryptic text message. That message wasn’t meant to be discussed, not even with someone Carter trusted. But he could tell Brady the other reason for his trip. As he’d