Free MM01 - Valley of Fire by Peggy Webb Page B

hoping it would help. It didn't. Her hips hiked up the sheet between them so that she could feel his body heat. Oh, help, she thought. What was she to do? She tried counting sheep, but thoughts of Rick kept creeping into her mind, and she lost count at eight. Or was it nine?
    He moved, and his leg brushed against hers. She decided to let it stay there. What was the harm?
    The minutes dragged by. Martha Ann felt sweat trickle between her breasts. She had the choice of smothering to death or kicking down the sheet. Being practical, she kicked down the sheet.
    “Are you hot?”
    “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”
    “I wasn't asleep.”
    “Neither was I.” Bold as he was, he would probably take that admission as an invitation. Her mind groped for a distraction. She wasn't long in finding it. “Do you smell something funny?”
    “It must be the candles.”
    “Good grief, the candles.” She sat straight up in bed. Too late, she remembered Velma's gown. She risked a peek at Rick. He was propped on his pillow, hands behind his head, staring frankly at her.
    She reached for the sheet.
    “Don't.” His hand snaked out and caught hers. “Let me look at you in the candlelight.” He took his time, studying her as if she were a rare bird he was thinking of mounting and hanging in his trophy case. Shivers crawled over her skin.
    “We forgot to blow out the candles,” she said.
    “I didn't forget. I thought it would be romantic to let them burn a while.”
    “I'm not looking for romance; I'm looking for Lucky.”
    “Ahhh, yes. The elusive husband.” Smiling, he reached up and ran his hand lightly down her cheek. “I hope he appreciates just how lucky he is.”
    “Don't.”
    It was a token protest, and he knew it. Instead of removing his hand, he let it glide slowly down her cheek, down her throat, and across her left shoulder.
    “You were made to be loved, my pet.”
    “Not by you.” His fingertips made small circles on her skin. She felt herself go limp.
    Rick exerted the lightest pressure on her shoulder, and she slid across the bed toward him. Not even a Wall of Jericho could have kept her out of his arms. It was wrong, it was not in character, and she knew she'd regret it in the morning. But only a saint or a martyr would have turned away, and she had never claimed to be either.
    He ran his hands over her back, starting at the back of her neck and working all the way down to the base of her spine. There was nothing quite as erotic as the feel of a man's hands pressing through a silk garment, she thought. Her skin tingled, heated up.
    She was in the arms of an expert, and she knew it. She didn't even try to resist him. Besides that, the room was full of a kind of heady fragrance. It wafted from the curtains and floated around the burning candles. Martha Ann felt as if she were at the mercy of some mysterious power. And it was certainly beyond her control.
    Her arms circled his shoulders and pulled him closer. His skin was warm and slightly damp with perspiration. She leaned over and nibbled his shoulder. A shudder ran through him.
    He flipped her onto her back and pinned her underneath him. For a moment he remained poised above her, propped on his elbows, studying her face. Desire was there, a desire that matched his own. His mouth slammed down on hers. It was a no-holds-barred kiss, a hungry exchange by two experts who knew exactly what they wanted but didn't quite understand why.
    Ahhh, he thought. She was good. More than good. She was the best. He thought her excellent rating as a lover might be due to the nightgown she was wearing. It bared enough flesh to tease and covered enough to tantalize. Wearing that gown Martha Ann Riley could have single-handedly brought the American Revolution to a standstill.
    Or it could be her skin. Silky, satiny, velvety. That fool poet in his soul was at it again. Or perhaps it was her lips. They were lush and inviting, and he could swear that he tasted the beauty spot.
    He ran