LITMIR.BIZ

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      But he took her feet, and gently rested her legs across his shoulders. He carried her, braced her, and she was completely open to him. It felt so right, strangely safe, and her hips began to move on the table, shifting slightly, responding to his fingers.

      And then, when she could hardly think, it wasn’t his fingers anymore. It was his mouth, and his tongue and tiny, fiery hints of teeth. And then came dark heat, and the softest, coaxing pull.

      He’d never done this to her, no one had ever done it, but it was perfect, like watching fireworks from a river, like being the fireworks and being the river, like pushing and pulling, like coiling and burning, and burning…

      And finally the explosion that somehow she knew she had been born for.

      When it stopped, she had no idea how long she lay there. She wasn’t sure she’d ever breathe normally again, or sit up or speak. But somehow, little by little, her heart subsided to normal, and she felt reality gathering around her.

      She sensed movement, and when she opened her eyes, Trent was sorting out her nightshirt, pulling it down over her thighs. He carefully eased her legs down so that her feet just barely touched the floor.

      With one firm hand behind her shoulder, he nudged her to a sitting position.

      And then he began to buckle his belt.

      “Trent.” She stared at the belt, unable to meet his eyes. “I thought—”

      She felt like a child just learning to speak. Her mouth wouldn’t move quite right, and words eluded her.

      She watched his cool motions as he pulled himself together and headed for the cellar stairs.

      “Good night, Sue.”

      He looked so…unmoved. If his lips weren’t slightly swollen, she would think she had imagined the entire experience.

      “Trent…”

      He turned. “Yes?”

      “That’s all? You’re leaving?”

      He tilted his watch. “It’s late. I have to be at the Double C by six.”

      Though she wished she could think of something sharp to say, her mind still felt too scrambled. “But I thought you—I thought you wanted me to—”

      “I guess you thought wrong, Susannah.” He smiled, the classic Trent Maxwell mocking grin. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

      * * *

      FROM THE WINDOW of his office at the Double C the next morning, Trent watched Alcatraz taking a spin around the paddock.

      Trent was supposed to be checking over payroll records, but he’d never been crazy about the paperwork part of his job. Right now he couldn’t take his eyes off the potent combination of sunshine, magnificent quarter horse and wide green pastures.

      The scene called to him, making his office feel small and stuffy, his work pointless.

      But who was he kidding? This mood hadn’t come over him because his work was dull. The Double C had twenty-five thousand acres for him to patrol, a million issues to deal with—both indoors and out—and a stable of ranch horses to ride whenever he wanted.

      No, this itchy dissatisfaction was all about Susannah.

      He tapped his foot against the wooden floor and added a syncopated rhythm with his pen. He couldn’t stop thinking about last night—and wondering whether he’d made a serious mistake.

      She wouldn’t lightly forgive him for the episode in the cellar. He knew that—he’d known even before he touched her that he’d pay dearly for it.

      Susannah had always been a proud woman, determined to be in control of her life, her heart…and her body. Even back when they were in the throes of young love, she’d been self-conscious about the final moment of physical surrender. Today, when she saw him as the enemy, and sex as the battleground, that complete meltdown must have felt like a humiliating defeat.

      It had begun as a power trip, he had to admit that. He’d wanted to show her that she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be. He had wanted to force her to admit that she still felt something for him.

      But, in the end, the simple desire to touch her, and taste her, had been overpowering. He’d needed that more than he’d needed his own release.

      Not that the victory had exactly been an ego boost. Making her catch fire had been about as difficult as setting a match to dry kindling. She’d been ready. Beyond ready. Any man who had touched that pent-up dynamite would have created a similar explosion.

      Maybe he should have let her finish what she’d started out to do. If she’d been able to control him, to decide what he’d feel and when, she might have been less resentful. He certainly would have been less frustrated.

      Trent unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves, wondering if the air conditioner might be broken. He had to get out of here.

      It wasn’t about the urge to find Susannah and stage a repeat of last night.

      It wasn’t. He just needed some air.…

      Luckily, before he could stand up, the door opened and Chase entered, looking dusty and tired.

      Trent settled back into his chair. Saved by the boss.

      “We found Blue Boy,” Chase said without preamble. The two men were such old friends that they’d long ago dispensed with formalities. Besides, Trent knew all about the missing horse.

      “Where was he?”

      “The rascal found a bad piece of fencing out by the west ridge and jumped it.”

      “Is he okay?”

      Chase dropped onto the comfortable chair opposite the desk and put his feet up with a sigh. “He twisted his right hind leg. Doc says it’s a tendon, not too bad, luckily, so he’ll recover. Out of commission for a while, though.”

      Trent shook his head. “Wish I thought it would teach Blue a lesson. He’s too old to go gallivanting.”

      Chase chuckled. “No such thing, pal. At least I hope there isn’t.” He yawned happily and scratched at a grass stain on his shirt. Chase was a true Texas blue blood, fifth-generation millionaire, but he loved to get dirty, sneaking away from black tie events to tackle work even his ranch hands hated.

      “So. I hear you took a tumble yourself.” Chase lifted his chin, pretending to try to see over the edge of the desk. “Clumsy bastard. How hard is it to stay upright on a ladder?”

      “Depends on the ladder,” Trent said with a scowl. “Everything she’s got over there needs fixing. This one was about a hundred years old. The step just gave out under me.”

      “That damn girl’s too proud to live.” Chase dusted the knee of his jeans, sending a little cloud of gray Double C dirt into the air. “She can’t ask me to loan her a ladder? She lets her people climb around on a rusted piece of crap?”

      “Well…” Trent toyed with his pen. “That’s the weird thing.”

      Suddenly, Chase’s yawning, sleepy-eyed manner disappeared. He knew Trent, and he recognized the tone.

      “What weird thing?”

      “I’m not sure. At first I just assumed, as you did, that the bolts were rotten. But I got to thinking, and I’m not so sure. The ladder fell right beside me, and I was lying there a second or two, staring straight at it.”

      “And?”

      “I didn’t really put two and two together at the time, being preoccupied with making sure all my body parts still worked. But now that I think back, I’m pretty sure I didn’t see any rust.”

      Chase frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. You mean the break was clean?”

      “Yeah.

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