A Fortune's Children's Christmas by Barbara Boswell, Lisa Jackson, Linda Turner Page A

inside, he began to burn, the heat between his legs becoming an ache. He slipped her vest off her shoulders and parted her blouse with fingers that felt clumsy with the small buttons.
    Her breasts were full and spilled over the top of her bra. He kissed each rounded mound, then lowered a lacy strap, exposing her nipple, dark and dusky, hard as a button. With a groan he lowered his head and suckled, his lips teasing, his tongue lapping and the taste of milk filling his mouth.
    Her fingers slid through his hair and held him close, her breath, in short pants, hot against his scalp.
    Though he knew he was making a mistake, fording a river he wouldn’t ever be able to cross again, he slipped her blouse and bra off her body, tossed his own sweater onto the growing heap of discarded clothes on the floor and kissed her everywhere. He half expected her to resist him, to tell him that she couldn’t continue with the madness of lovemaking, but she arched against him and as he eased her skirt over her hips, she quivered with desire. “Chase,” she said, but it wasn’t a protest.
    God, help me, he thought as she helped peel hisjeans down his legs and he was naked as she, his body lying muscle to muscle over hers. Warm and willing, she stared up at him as he gently nudged her knees apart with his own.
    “Lesley,” he whispered, “sweet, sweet Lesley. I—”
    “Shh, Chase. This is good,” she said as if she could read the protests forming in his mind. Her eyes shined a vibrant green, her lush body was rosy with passion, her arms wrapped around his torso.
    His erection throbbed and he knew that she was the only woman on earth who could assuage the ache deep in his body, the only one who could soothe the anguish in his soul. Staring deep into her eyes, he thrust into the welcoming warmth of her body.
    She gave out a lusty cry, and he withdrew only to plunge forward again.
    “Please,” she whispered, tossing her head, her hair a fiery mass on the couch cushions. “Oh, please—”
    He didn’t stop. Sinew and muscle and bone seemed centered in that one spot between his legs. Sweat dotted his forehead and ran down his back. His brain thundered, his body strained as he held back, making love to her slowly until he saw the widening of her pupils. He felt the shift of her body beneath his, heard her breath catch, and he lost control. With a primal roar he let go, spilling himself inside her, feeling the release as he fell against her, flattening her breasts and kissing her as he’d never kissed another woman in all of his life.

Seven
    “S o, you’ve been seein’ a lot of Chase Fortune, eh?” Ray Mellon had stopped by and was leaning over the top rail of the fence that separated the barnyard from the garden, where Lesley was planting a row of corn. The May sun was warm, the earth smelling fresh and wet, as winter had disappeared a month ago.
    “We’re neighbors,” she said, wiping the mud from her gardening gloves before sticking them into the pocket of her apron, where she kept her unopened packages of seeds. “And he’s been good enough to come over and help me out once in a while.”
    “I heard,” Ray drawled, and Lesley bristled. She didn’t like the idea of being the subject of gossip in Larkspur. “I guess it makes sense. You need a man around here to help out with some of the chores, and Chase, well, we know that he’s connected to the place.” He reached into his breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes and slid a glance at her from under the wide brim of his cowboy hat.
    “I’m not so sure I need a man,” she said as he lit up and waved his match out with the help of a cool spring breeze that raced across the land.
    “Maybe that was a bad choice of words, but Chasewould certainly be the likely candidate as he’s so familiar with your spread.”
    “Familiar?” she repeated, her eyes straying to a movement in the paddock near the barn. A sorrel foal with a crooked blaze and three white stockings was kicking