Free Wyoming Wildfire by Leigh Greenwood Page B
Authors: Leigh Greenwood
over the edge of a precipice where caution is banished and unbounded desire enthroned. She knew she must do something, or surrender completely to the passion that had already conquered her body and was striving to fasten its viselike grip on her mind as well.
Dimly, Burch knew he should not devour Sibyl here on the open prairie, but the loveliness of her, the delicious smell of her hair, the warmth of her body, the velvety feel of her skin, pushed him beyond the limits of restraint.
Unable to reach him with words, Sibyl gathered the last of her strength and dealt Burch a ringing slap, which brought him to his senses with such a savage jolt that it caused the blood to pound unmercifully in his temples. Sibyl rolled quickly out of his embrace and turned to face him, disheveled, panting, and under the sway of powerful cross currents that still threatened to immobilize her. For a moment they faced each other like protagonists frozen in time, shock and amazement holding them in its grip.
“Is this the way you treat all women?” Sibyl asked, fighting a wild desire to fling herself at him again.
“Only the ones that hug and tease a man until he can’t stand it any more.” Burch rolled over on his back, drained by the struggle within him.
“I didn’t hug you.”
“What do you call throwing your arms about a man’s neck fit to choke him?” he barked, sitting up with the quickness of a rattier. Sibyl drew back instinctively.
“I was just holding on because I was frightened,” she argued, trying to forget she had done much more.
“Then I’ll have to see that you gallop toward another ravine tomorrow.” He spoke more easily as the grip of passion began to loosen its hold. The country is full of them. You might grow to like being hugged.”
“Never.” But her assertion lacked conviction. The delicious feeling continued to thrill her body and she could not command her voice.
“Was it so bad?”
“I could never enjoy being mauled,” she said stiffly, trying to put some distance between him and her near capitulation. “I would appreciate it if you would forget this morning ever happened.”
“You might as well ask me to forget I was born.”
“Something like this is no more than a shameful memory for a woman,” she said, sounding more like the shrill virgin of two days ago. “Mere vulgar brawling is something to be avoided in a relationship.”
“I wouldn’t call it brawling; more like a friendly wrestling match.”
“There was nothing friendly about your intentions.”
“No, ma’am, being friends was not what I had in mind.”
Sibyl flushed in spite of herself. “It’s time we got back,” she said, getting to her feet and carefully brushing off her clothes. “Aunt Augusta will begin to wonder what’s happened to us.”
Burch stood up reluctantly. “You could tell her we got lost.”
“I never lie to my aunt.”
“Never?”
“Not even once,” she stated emphatically, taking her horse’s reins and heading back toward the ranch.
“Do you intend to walk back?” Burch inquired, puzzled.
“Yes.”
“Why, when you’ve got a perfectly good horse?”
“Because I can’t mount by myself, and I don’t trust you to touch me again.’’
Without fanfare, Burch pitched her roughly into the saddle. “Hungry for you I may be,” he growled, “but I’ll not force any woman against her will. I can touch you without falling down in a rutting heat.”
Sibyl’s color rose considerably. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s how you said it.”
“I just meant I didn’t trust you to control instincts you didn’t really want to control.”
“Now there you have me,” he drawled, flashing his devastating grin. “I wished mighty hard we were the only two people in the world.”
“I wouldn’t give in even then.” Unknowingly, she wanted him to try to convince her, but he only grunted in disagreement. They rode back in thoughtful silence.
“Shall we ride tomorrow?”
Dimly, Burch knew he should not devour Sibyl here on the open prairie, but the loveliness of her, the delicious smell of her hair, the warmth of her body, the velvety feel of her skin, pushed him beyond the limits of restraint.
Unable to reach him with words, Sibyl gathered the last of her strength and dealt Burch a ringing slap, which brought him to his senses with such a savage jolt that it caused the blood to pound unmercifully in his temples. Sibyl rolled quickly out of his embrace and turned to face him, disheveled, panting, and under the sway of powerful cross currents that still threatened to immobilize her. For a moment they faced each other like protagonists frozen in time, shock and amazement holding them in its grip.
“Is this the way you treat all women?” Sibyl asked, fighting a wild desire to fling herself at him again.
“Only the ones that hug and tease a man until he can’t stand it any more.” Burch rolled over on his back, drained by the struggle within him.
“I didn’t hug you.”
“What do you call throwing your arms about a man’s neck fit to choke him?” he barked, sitting up with the quickness of a rattier. Sibyl drew back instinctively.
“I was just holding on because I was frightened,” she argued, trying to forget she had done much more.
“Then I’ll have to see that you gallop toward another ravine tomorrow.” He spoke more easily as the grip of passion began to loosen its hold. The country is full of them. You might grow to like being hugged.”
“Never.” But her assertion lacked conviction. The delicious feeling continued to thrill her body and she could not command her voice.
“Was it so bad?”
“I could never enjoy being mauled,” she said stiffly, trying to put some distance between him and her near capitulation. “I would appreciate it if you would forget this morning ever happened.”
“You might as well ask me to forget I was born.”
“Something like this is no more than a shameful memory for a woman,” she said, sounding more like the shrill virgin of two days ago. “Mere vulgar brawling is something to be avoided in a relationship.”
“I wouldn’t call it brawling; more like a friendly wrestling match.”
“There was nothing friendly about your intentions.”
“No, ma’am, being friends was not what I had in mind.”
Sibyl flushed in spite of herself. “It’s time we got back,” she said, getting to her feet and carefully brushing off her clothes. “Aunt Augusta will begin to wonder what’s happened to us.”
Burch stood up reluctantly. “You could tell her we got lost.”
“I never lie to my aunt.”
“Never?”
“Not even once,” she stated emphatically, taking her horse’s reins and heading back toward the ranch.
“Do you intend to walk back?” Burch inquired, puzzled.
“Yes.”
“Why, when you’ve got a perfectly good horse?”
“Because I can’t mount by myself, and I don’t trust you to touch me again.’’
Without fanfare, Burch pitched her roughly into the saddle. “Hungry for you I may be,” he growled, “but I’ll not force any woman against her will. I can touch you without falling down in a rutting heat.”
Sibyl’s color rose considerably. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s how you said it.”
“I just meant I didn’t trust you to control instincts you didn’t really want to control.”
“Now there you have me,” he drawled, flashing his devastating grin. “I wished mighty hard we were the only two people in the world.”
“I wouldn’t give in even then.” Unknowingly, she wanted him to try to convince her, but he only grunted in disagreement. They rode back in thoughtful silence.
“Shall we ride tomorrow?”