An Act of Love by Brooke Hastings

You'll notice, Mr. Griffin, that I used the word 'help.' I
won't play the slave to your taskmaster, and I promise you that if you
so much as lay a finger on me to try to force me to do so, my father
will skin you alive." Recalling his words of the day before she
concluded briskly, "Just keep all that in mind and we'll do fine
together."
    He was smiling openly by now, his expression a little
rueful. "The minute you figured out who I was the whole game plan was
probably shot to hell," he admitted. "I can't threaten to beat you and
you won't let me make love to you, which just about eliminates the
traditional methods of handling a difficult woman." He stubbed out his
cigarette, then stood up. "You win. I'll help with the wood."
    Randy was charmed by his concession speech and couldn't
pretend otherwise. The logs were heavier than she'd expected and it was
very hard work to haul them the fifty or so feet to the house, but she
really didn't mind. Eventually, however, her arms were simply too sore
to continue. Luke didn't look too pleased when she told him she was
going inside to lie down, but he didn't argue with her, either.
    She slipped under the covers and waited a little tensely,
wondering whether he'd come in after her, but when five minutes went by
with no sign of him she relaxed and closed her eyes. After all, he'd
just admitted that there was nothing he could do to enforce his wishes.
    Eventually she dozed off, only to be awakened by the slam
of the front door. She was wonderfully comfortable and hated to get up,
but the sound of Luke's footsteps in the room started to change her
mind. She opened her eyes to see him leaning against the door-jamb,
watching her.
    "Am I going to have to wake you up every time I want a
meal?" he asked lazily.
    Randy was still half-asleep. "It isn't very nice to be
woken up by somebody nagging at me for meals all the time," she
complained.
    "You agreed to do the cooking. Besides, I get very moody
if I'm not well-fed."
    Just like the bears in the zoo, Randy thought as he left
the room. She took a minute to brush out her hair and walked into the
living room to find him sitting on the couch, his feet up on the coffee
table, holding a paperback book. Randy had read that particular novel
earlier in the year and remembered it well. The hero and heroine were
caught up in a series of incidents that ultimately had them confusing
illusion with reality.
    Some perversely impish streak got the better of her, and
she sat down beside him on the couch and said ingenuously, "Is that
your inspiration for this crazy abduction of yours? By the time you get
through with me I'm likely to wind up thinking that I really
am
my sister."
    He snapped the book shut and tossed it on the table. Randy
knew she'd made a serious error even before she found herself flat on
her stomach, helplessly pinned over his thighs. She tried to squirm
away, laughing, but Luke obviously had no intention of releasing her.
His hand explored the curve of her bottom much too thoroughly, then
lifted. What followed was a playful little slap that was far too gentle
to punish—unless one considered an erotic game a form of
punishment.
    Randy didn't. Even before the first gentle slap her heart
was racing, and by the time he got around to the second the blood
seemed to be tearing through her veins. By the third she was ready to
admit that this so-called spanking was in fact a very expert sort of
seduction, and just as enjoyable as Luke had claimed it would be. She
was still trying to wriggle away—it was clearly part of the
game—when he wrapped his hands around her waist and turned
her over.
    "That's enough of that," he said, pulling her into a
sitting position on his lap. His eyes glowed with hunger, but not for
food.
    Randy looked at his mouth, wanting him to kiss her, but
aware that it would lead straight into the bedroom. His hand slipped
under her turtleneck to cover her breast, teasing the nipple to
hardness and sending a spasm of sensual