Red Hawk's Woman
Page 26
Bewitching beyond belief.
When had the nameless feeling become her master, careening through her like some living, breathing beast?
Desire aroused a slumbering demon.
All too soon, the pressure against her lips lessened. The release was now as upsetting as the unexpected kiss had been. Callie’s breath caught in her throat when the warmth of his mouth lifted.
Their gazes locked.
His breath rushed out hot and fast, and in the subdued light, the tight line of his cheek appeared cut from chiseled stone.
Seconds crawled past as raspy, panting sounds escaped her throat.
And then, with unbearable achievement, Jackson’s mouth returned to the same mocking smirk. His gaze never left hers as he reached sideways for the door. A second later, he twisted the knob and the sounds of music and laughter and rattling pots and pans spilled inward. Without another word, he stepped from the small room.
Callie’s whole body jerked when the door slammed shut.
Her hands rose, and she spread trembling fingers across her mouth. Her tongue slipped out, wetting her lips…but all she tasted was him. The ache inside her chest swelled, her muscles paralyzed. Unable to breathe now, and as hard as she tried, Callie could not deny the all-encompassing need Jackson had just brought to life inside her.
Running from the past…and running out of time.
The Fortune
© 2013 Beth Williamson
The Malloy Family, Book 9
French-born Francesca Chastain came to New York with her family to find a better life. Now she is fleeing a nightmare. Her past chases her from New York and she must run, and run hard.
Her journey to the land of milk and honey is interrupted by the accidental squeeze of a trigger. And the man on the other end of her blunder is a man like none other she’s ever met.
After three years working Oregon-bound wagon trains, John Malloy has almost saved enough money to start his own horse ranch. And almost met the end of his life at the hands of fiery, green-eyed Frankie, a confusing, frustrating woman who responds to his flirting—then disappears.
No one is more relieved than Frankie when John races to her rescue, but now they’re trapped in the wild. And the shadows of both their pasts are closing in…
Warning: Inside you’ll find sexy heat, danger, Old West violence, gun-toting bad guys and an emotional roller coaster. Prepare to fall in love with the Malloys all over again with witty, strong women, stubborn, heroic men and a love that launched a legacy.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Fortune:
John could hardly believe his ears. Frankie, the spunky little thing, wanted him to help her wash her hair. He didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss her, because sure as hell he’d wanted to kiss her since she landed in the mud under him. Those flashing green eyes, that heart-shaped face, the soft, pillowy breasts that made his hands itch. She was sin incarnate, even covered in mud.
Now here she sat on the bank of the frigid creek, her hair undone. Although muddy, she had gorgeous hair, thick and wavy with the colors of sunset sparkling in the early morning sun. He’d be a fool to touch her.
John was obviously a complete fool.
“Then come closer and lean forward.”
She did as she was bade, coming close enough he could see the small hairs at the nape of her neck, tiny wisps that moved slightly in the breeze. He wanted to kiss them, breathe in the scent of Frankie, then kiss his way across the pink shell of her ear, her jaw, until he reached the full, ruby lips. Damn. He wasn’t one to get caught up in a woman’s looks, but something about this little French woman set his blood to boil.
John scooped up water with his hands, running it through her hair, working out the clumps of mud. Her hair was at least three feet long, rich and thick. He could well imagine what it would feel like clean and spread across the sheets.
Damn, but he’d been too long without a woman. He did not need to get involved with any of the folks from the wagon train, especially virginal young ladies.
“My neck is beginning to cramp.” She knew how to complain, that was for sure.
“I got the clumps out. Let me give it a good scrub.”
Her head felt so tiny in his hands, in contrast to the heavy hair she carried. He scrubbed at her scalp until her hair fairly squeaked. Then he kept at it a few minutes more, feeling perverse at keeping her on her knees in front of him. A lesser man would make a crude remark, but he kept his tongue. For a reason he couldn’t name, he liked her.
“I would like to stand now, monsieur.”
He chuckled and squeezed as much water from her hair as he could. “There you go, Frankie. Now toss me your dress and I’ll see what I can do.”
She swung her hair to the right, which made a slap as it hit her back. Without the cloud of hair, Frankie looked damn young, vulnerable. Then she opened her mouth and the illusion was broken.
“I do not believe I am the first woman to hear you say that.” She raised both brows. “Do you have experience as a laundress?”
“I’ve had to wash my own duds for years. I’m sure I can manage to get your frock clean.” He held out his hand, enjoying the play of emotions across her face.
“It is sturdy, but not canvas like your trousers. Please do not rip it.” She handed him the yellow dress with obvious reluctance.
The fact she’d entrusted him with what was apparently her only other dress was unexpected. He did his best to get the mud off, using the sand at the bottom of the creek to scour it away. Without soap, it wasn’t going to be shiny clean, but at least it was cleaner.
“Your sisters don’t have an accent like you.” He was curious about her, although he shouldn’t be.
“I was ten when we moved from France. The two youngest lost most of their accent, and Josephine is a governess and tutor. She trained herself to lose any trace of France.” She squeezed out her hair. “Wealthy people prefer a French maid or dresser, not a French tutor.”
John hadn’t had much contact with rich people, but her words had a ring of truth to them. There was a rich man on the wagon train and he was a jackass.
“What brings you west?”
She stopped and stared at him, her chin rising into a stubborn tilt. “Why do most settlers?”
He shrugged. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to push. It wasn’t his business and truthfully, he’d heard too many stories in the last three years. He wouldn’t miss another one.
When he rose to wring out the dress, she gasped. His gaze flew to hers, noting she had been finger combing her hair and watching him. He wanted to puff out his chest and grin, but her expression stopped him.
“Do not wring out my dress, monsieur. Bring it here and I will extract the water, si vous plais.”
He frowned. “You sure are bossy.”
“My sisters would likely agree with you.” She got to her feet and held out her hands. He noted her wet hair had turned the top of her blue dress almost see-through.
John should have told her, but damn, he enjoyed the view too much. The devil inside him wanted to know the color of the nipples currently poking at her dress. They weren’t too dark, perhaps pink.
“Monsieur Malloy, the dress?” She tapped her foot and swung her hair back.
He couldn’t stop himself, his gaze dropped again to her chest. She followed his stare and gasped, her arms slamming over those tits in a flash.
“I cannot believe you did not tell me.”
“I can’t believe you expected me to.” He grinned, completely unrepentant and enjoying his time with Frankie Chastain immensely.
“You, monsieur, are no gentleman.”
“I never said I was.” He tossed the dress, enjoying the wet slap as it landed in her arms. Damn but he felt like laughing.
Frankie spun on her heel and walked aw
ay. Too late John realized he still hadn’t had his hand doctored, so he needed to return to the Chastain wagon. A tiny bubble of excitement tickled his belly. Frankie had definitely put a twist in his tail in the short time he’d known her.
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Red Hawk’s Woman
Copyright © 2007 by Karen Kay
ISBN: 978-1-61922-100-0
Edited by Sasha Knight
Cover by Angela Waters
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First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2014
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