Free Surrender the Wind by Elizabeth St. Michel Page A

His hand moved down her throat, down the side of her breast and withdrew. A jolt of deep female longing shot through her body.
    Catherine doubted the general had one humble bone in his body. “Your only desire is to display yourself like some banty rooster with all the conceit you can muster.” Again, she pushed against his form, steadfast, unyielding, like dislodging a locomotive. Impossible.
    A Satanic smile spread across his face. Dangerous. He leaned against her, long, lean and hard. The palms of her hands burned where they lay upon his chest. How many foes had he fought? Who would survive this battle?
    “How you damage my reputation.” His voice lulled her. “Here I am, yours to abuse on the altar of sacrifice. Would you miss me when I am gone?”
    “I would grieve in the span of time it takes to clap my hands together.”
    Clasping another tendril of hair, he trailed it over her breast, barely a warm brush, just a whisper. Except this time, his hand did not stop at her breast, but continued down her waist to the round curve of her hip.
    “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, though she knew full well what he intended.
    “Do you want me to?”
    Just as she said, “You can’t,” he lowered his head. Waves of excitement rippled through her.
    “Why?”
    “Because I saved your life.”
    “You’re going to have to do better than that.” His fingers slid under her chin, lifting her face to his. “I think I should kiss you all the time. It is the only remedy to keep you quiet.” In one forward motion his lips stirred against hers, gentle at first, then challenging…and persistent. If only she could remain stiff, immune. The gentle massage of his kiss sent currents of desire through her. Blood pounded in her brain, leapt from her heart and made her pulses race like quicksilver.
    He broke apart only inches from her mouth, his steel-blue gaze, hot like molten rock riveting her to the spot. “Perhaps my years at war have lessened my desirability. Do you think you could try harder?”
    Catherine strove to gather her wits. Try harder? The arrogant cad. “Let go of me.”
    Instead, his body imprisoned her, and his lips came down upon her once more. He devoured her. She moved toward him, pressing into him, impelled by her hunger.
    He dragged his lips from hers. “Do you think the war has made its mark on me? Will I be cursed in my…” he paused then deliberately used her words, “…senior years? Do you think the ladies of the South will find my kisses pleasing?”
    “Yes.” Catherine practically screamed, her lips burning in the aftermath. “They’ll find you very pleasing. Now let me go.”
    He did not release her, tilted his head, as if weighing the matter. An odd twinge of disappointment covered his countenance. “I have a secret which I beg you will keep in strictest confidence?”
    Catherine nodded her head. She would do anything to get away from him.
    “I don’t feel very secure about myself. In fact, I think I am at risk. Do you think if I do more battle it will help me improve?” A flash of humor crossed his face.
    “Then go do battle with General Grant!”
    He mimed a dubious expression. “That’s not what I had in mind. General Grant’s charms do not interest me as much as yours do.” And before she could protest again, his lips came down on hers, this time hard, searching…a kiss so hot it could fuse metals. Catherine quivered. Her knees weakened. Peaches. She moved her hands up his chest, and without guile, her fingers continued upward until they lightly stroked the dark hair at his nape.
    He outlined the tips of her breasts with his fingers and her traitorous nipples grew taut. His other hand splayed across the small of her back and Catherine gasped, felt his hardness through their clothes. He cupped her breast in his hand and kissed her eyes, nose, and hollows of her neck and down…
    He demanded everything, her compliance, her surrender…
    A loud shout heralded from in front of