Free The Judge and the Gypsy by Sandra Chastain Page A

slightly and moving ever so gently beneath his hand. He could tell that her breasts were full, her nipplesgenerous buds, her body taut and well-muscled. No wasted flesh on this lady. No fear or pushing away this time.
    For a long moment Rasch let himself explore the softness of her skin, smell the elusive scent she’d identified as that of the tea olive blossom. He recognized the faintly permissive movements of her body pressing against his. She’d been wrong about the morning. He had no more self-control now than he’d had last night. If he didn’t get up and out, he was going to do something foolish like roll over on top of her and bury himself deep inside that responsive womanly body.
    He reached up and unzipped the bag, slipping away from the warmth of her flesh and being hit by the crisp, cool mountain air that followed a night of rain. He left the tent, carrying his clothes in his hands.
    Savannah groaned in protest, until she came awake and realized what she was doing. From the open flap of the tent she watched Rasch stretch in the morning sun. His body was spectacular—lean, strong, and masculine. There were scars on his back, old scars, and she wondered what had happened to him.
    He stared out into the early morning mist, a frown marring his handsome face, as if he were trying to make some decision that was distasteful. Then he pulled on his pants and a faded Harvard sweatshirt and moved out of her vision. For a few minutes she could hear him as he stirred the fire, then there was silence.
    Savannah stretched. Her body still felt warm—and more. After a night of sleeping in the crusader’sarms, she felt a banked heat simmering inside her. She contracted her muscles and felt a ripple of desire between her legs. Even in sleep their bodies had continued the connection. She was jolted by the knowledge that she wanted the crusader to make love to her. More than that, she needed it badly. And she wondered how she would get through the day without giving herself away.
    Beyond the campsite, in the shadow of the trees, Rasch forced himself to take a long, deep breath as he tried to relax. He felt her on his skin, smelled her even now, and he was so strung out that he couldn’t seem to slow his pulse. For most—hell for all—of the night as far as he could tell, he’d stayed hard, and that wasn’t changing.
    “Damn!”
    A chipmunk sat on a log watching him will his body to cooperate. The small animal tilted his little masked face and waited for a minute before cocking his ears and beginning to chatter in intense animation.
    Rasch didn’t talk chipmunk, but eventually he recognized the message of alarm and turned back to their camp. Gypsy had been right; there were more things in heaven and earth than he’d ever dreamed of. And one of them was back in the tent, waiting for him.
    The sound of bells filtered through his thoughts.
    He began to peel off his shirt.
    He knew what he was doing was insane. He’d never before done anything that wasn’t carefully thought out and studied. But this morning Judge Horatio Webber didn’t care to deliberate. He only knew thathe wanted this woman, whoever she was, whatever her own agenda.
    Rasch was halfway back to the campsite when he saw it—a very large black bear at the water’s edge. Rasch came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, God!”
    He’d joked about the danger of bears, but he’d never expected his warning to become a reality. Quickly he tried to formulate a plan. Nothing came to mind until he saw the bear swing around toward the fire, turning its head slowly back and forth as if puzzled or listening. The flap of the tent pushed open as Savannah crawled out.
    “No!” Rasch flung off his unlaced boots and broke into a run. “Savannah, don’t move!”
    The bear let out a threatening growl and jerked his attention away from Savannah and toward Rasch, who was waving his arms and yelling loudly.
    Savannah felt her blood plummet to her bare feet as she realized what was