At the Cowboy's Mercy by Emma Jay Page A

of her body, wanting to feel every detail of his. He pulled out and pushed back in, his breathing growing heavy, his strokes coming faster, harder, and she met each one with a desperation of her own. She'd been so certain she'd come the minute he entered her, but he kept her off balance.  
    He reached around to pluck at her nipples. She straightened as much as she could to allow him access while her hips angled to bring him deeper.  
    "Harder," she gasped. "Please. Luke."
    "Jesus, Kennedy," he managed, and pushed her forward, shoulders down, hips in the air, and pounded into her.
    The orgasm twisted, a living thing inside her, tightening around every nerve in her before springing free, shooting through her blood, dancing over her skin, until she could feel only Luke's thrusts, hear his groan, feel him melt inside her.
    They stayed on their knees for several minutes, shaking, before he withdrew, got the knife and sliced her free to fall to the bed beside him.

CHAPTER NINE

    Her wrists were chafed. Luke lightly stroked the skin as she slept, her hand on his chest, her face pressed against his side, under his arm. God knew, he hadn't meant to hurt her. He hadn't thought she'd pull against the t-shirt, hadn't thought the t-shirt would do any damage, but she'd stretched it all to hell in her excitement. The knots had been so tight he'd had to slice her free.
    The experience had been sexy as hell, but he didn't want to leave marks on his woman.
    His woman. The thought sent ice through his veins. She wasn't his woman. She was...what? She'd explained what had happened with her father last night, why she hadn't called him and Liam to say good-bye. And hell, it made sense. The old man always had more pride than sense, which was why Kennedy was in the state she was in.
    So where did that leave him and Kennedy? He'd kept his anger as a wall between them, but the wall was crumbling. No reason to hold her off--not like he had, her in his bed and all--except he was in no position to have a woman. He had a house, but no furniture, no heat, and his means of support was shakier than her father's gambling. Hell, it was gambling to a certain extent.
    He had nothing to offer her. He should send her on her way, but she had no place to go.
    Beside him, she woke with an "umph," then stretched, her naked body sliding along his, causing the predictable reaction. She glided her palm across his chest, then down his belly, then propped her chin on his chest.  
    "Morning," she murmured.
    Hard-on be damned, he wanted to get away from her, away from her sultry morning voice, her sexy hooded eyes, her knowing smile. Away from everything in him that made him want. Away from everything in him that could hurt her. He shifted toward the edge of the bed.
    "About time you woke up. Let's go to town and get some breakfast."
    She blinked and sat up, so sexy it made his teeth ache. Some of the relaxation left her face and she pushed her hair back and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
    After cold showers--since there was no hot water heater--they climbed in the truck and drove into town.
    For a Thursday morning, the little diner on the main drag was pretty busy. He parked the truck and they walked in silence to the door. Hell, the whole ride had been in silence. That meant something, right, if he couldn't even think of anything to say to her outside of bed? This wasn't a relationship if they couldn't talk. He held the door open so the chime overhead rang--not like anyone could hear it. All the tables were taken, and he convinced a farmer to slide over a stool so they could sit together at the counter. The farmer took one look at Kennedy, smiled and obliged.
    As they sat on the cushioned vinyl stools, Luke caught himself looking at her reflection in the chrome behind the counter. She'd braided her dark hair, since it was still wet, in a thick plait that fell between her shoulder blades. She wore no make-up and her skin was a healthy color now, not as pale as