Free One Wild Cowboy by CATHY GILLEN THACKER Page B

pull her intimately against him. He heard her soft gasp of surprise—and delight—as he threaded his hand through her hair and tilted her face up to his.
    The first contact was soft and tender. Their lips fused together. And yet there was no surrender.
    It didn’t matter.
    Dylan had met with resistance before.
    He knew gentleness and patience worked wonders.
    As did a full-on kiss filled with passion and need.
    He utilized both, grazing the shell of her ear, touching his mouth to her throat, the underside of her chin, her cheek, the tip of her nose, before moving once again to her lips.
    And this time, when he fit his lips to hers in a soft, sure kiss, she was ready for him. Drawing him closer, she tangled her tongue with his….
    The lines were blurring, Emily thought, as Dylan flattened a hand down her spine, pressing her body into his. Confusing her as to what was real and what wasn’t…what was possible and what was not…
    It didn’t matter how hot and hard he was…or that she was the reason for it. It didn’t matter that his embrace was magic, or that this fleeting embrace had her experiencing more pleasure than she ever had in her life.
    What mattered was that they weren’t in love.
    Couldn’t be.
    Wouldn’t be.
    So even if it felt like something more, Emily told herself it wasn’t.
    Shaken, she broke off the kiss and pushed away. “This can’t continue,” she managed, drawing a jerky breath.
    Not without some sort of promise that their relationship would one day be as real and true as the physical passion they felt.
    Sadly, no matter how much he lusted after her, she couldn’t see Dylan agreeing to that.
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    â€œI WASN’T SURE you’d show up,” Dylan remarked when Emily got out of the car several hours later.
    She had known he had figured no affair meant no working together, but she hadn’t bothered to correct his misimpression at the time. “Then you must know even less about me than you think,” Emily replied.
    Dylan laughed and favored her with his sexy, oh-so-male presence and what-I’d-really-like-to-do-to-you golden-brown eyes.
    She drew a conciliatory breath. “When I want to do something, I do it.”
    Dylan prodded devilishly. “And right now…?”
    Emily settled her hat on her head. “I want to see you start Ginger’s training.”
    Seeming pleased at that, Dylan dipped his head in a gallant bow and showed her the way. “Then let’s get to it.”
    The horses Dylan was working with were housed in a maze of corrals and pastures, all feeding into a central alley. Salt and Pepper were in an adjacent paddock, grazing sedately. Ginger was by herself in another.
    Dylan lifted the latch. Ginger took the opening he gave her and bolted down the aisleway. She took the first available exit and landed in a high-walled round pen. Dylan stepped in after her, closing the gate. Emily climbed onto the riser, above the pen, to watch.
    â€œEasy, girl,” Dylan said, as the beautiful mustang pranced back and forth, eyeing Dylan nervously all the while. He unfurled a long cloth line and gently threw it in the mare’sdirection. Ginger pranced away from it. Dylan pursued, calmly extending the line, forcing Ginger to go away from him again and again.
    First in clockwise motion.
    Then counterclockwise.
    Across the center of the round pen.
    Around the sides.
    Again and again, they went.
    â€œHow long are you going to do this?” Emily asked.
    Dylan cast her a look over his shoulder. He raised his hand—Ginger went faster. He dropped his hand to the side, she slowed. “Average time is about six minutes.”
    And then what? Emily wondered.
    Six minutes later, she found out.
    Dylan stopped throwing out the cloth line and simply stood quietly in the center of the pen. Slowly, he turned, so his shoulder was toward the mustang. Head bowed, he waited.
    Ginger stood, trembling with