Free The Reluctant Lark by Iris Johansen Page B

her. “Watch what you say about Americans, dove. You may live to regret it. I intend to deluge that Irish side of you so thoroughly with everything American that in six months time you’ll be singing the ‘Star-spangled Banner’ instead of those dreary dirges you’re so fond of.”
    Sheena chuckled. “You may succeed at that,” she said lightly. “You’ve already got me wearing red, white, and blue.”
    He looked down at her blue jeans and the scarlet and white ski sweater revealed by her open coat and grinned. “I told you that I only had to sit back and let your own instincts take over in order to reform you. You’re halfway there already, my fine Irish colleen.”
    She threw him an indignant look but still left her hand enveloped in his. She was too content to argue with him this morning. The sky was too blue, the crisp cold air too exhilarating, their surroundings too magically beautiful to spoil by conflict of any sort.
    They had reached the upper end of the lake when Challon noticed Sheena’s growing breathlessness. He stopped abruptly, his keen gaze raking her face and noting a faint flush on her cheeks. “You’re getting tired. Why didn’t you tell me that this was all too much for you? You’re just out of a sickbed, for God’s sake!”
    She smiled involuntarily as she recalled how he had bustled her out of the house without even giving her a chance to say yea or nay. “I’m just a little tired. I didn’t want to stop. It’s so beautiful here, just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
    “Right,” he said briskly. Ignoring her startled protest, he lifted her in his arms and strode swiftly to a fallen pine tree several yards away. He sat down on the log and cradled her in his lap. He opened his sheepskincoat and pulled her into its sheltering folds. “So rest, already.”
    Sheena wondered helplessly how he expected her to relax with her ear pressed to his hard, strong shoulder and the clean, earthy smell of him surrounding her. “This isn’t necessary,” she protested in a muffled voice as his hand began to stroke her tousled dark curls soothingly.
    His chuckle reverberated in her ear. “No, but it’s a hell of a lot of fun. Now lay still and let me cuddle you. It seems like a long time since I held you like this.”
    It had only been one night, she thought, but she wasn’t in the mood to quibble at the moment. She was finding the warm, virile strength of Challon’s body a heady contrast to the crisp coldness that surrounded them, and she unconsciously snuggled closer. She heard his low laugh again, this time with a note of triumph, and his arms tightened about her.
    She could see his smoky breath on the still, cold air above her as he said, “You’re like a fine-boned kitten, all softness and silk. And you’re all mine, aren’t you, love?”
    She raised her head to protest, to tell him no, to tell him that she was no one’s possession. But she met the golden intensity of his eyes, and the words died away without being spoken. There was no arrogant superiority, no smug triumph in his face at that moment. There was only a joyousness and a depth of tenderness that was incredible.
    “Just as I’m completely yours,” Challon said huskily, and slowly bent his head to take her lips.
    Sheena felt her throat tighten with unshed tears at the sheer beauty of the moment. She lifted her hand unconsciously to stroke the hard contour of his cheek. It was cold beneath her fingers. But his lips were warm and coaxing as they brushed across her throat to rest against the pulse in the soft hollow.
    “You’re beginning to realize that now, aren’t you, love?” he said softly. “You’re beginning to know that I’dnever take anything from you without giving a more than even exchange.” His warm lips were on hers once more, and she could feel her heart stop in her throat at the glowing tenderness of his embrace. “Give to me,” he urged softly. “Open to me, dove. Let me love you, and I