Desert Angel by Pamela K Forrest Page B

known that anyone could make the act of eating an experience in sensuality.
    She did. She held it to her mouth and just the pink tip of her tongue came out to taste. Then her lips parted and her white teeth sank into the succulent flesh, biting a piece free. The muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed, and her lips glistened from the juice. Jim found himself longing to lick the sweetness from her lips, to taste the flavor of the fruit from her mouth.
    Swallowing back a need like none he’d ever experienced before, he held the can out, offering her the last peach.
    “Are you sure?” she asked as her fingers dove into the can to snag the fruit. When she finally finished, she delicately licked each finger, her unknowingly erotic actions driving an arrow of desire through Jim’s body.
    For God’s sake, she’s here to take care of your kid, his guilt-riddled conscious reminded him, as he handed her the can and watched her drink the juice. She’s only a kid herself. You should be shot for the things you’re thinking. But God, in another couple of years she was going to a beauty. Hell, she was already a beauty, standing there in her too small dress with her hair trailing down her back.
    “That was … was . .
    “Wonderful?” he asked in a husky voice.
    March nodded, breaking into a smile that lit the room. “Even better than the first can.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I don’t feel guilty.”
    “You ate the other can of peaches, but didn’t enjoy them?”
    “Oh, I enjoyed them, but I felt so guilty because I knew I shouldn’t be eating them. I guess I can resist anything but temptation,” she admitted.
    Temptation, Jim thought. Girl, you don’t know what temptation is … but I do. Temptation is being alone in the dark with a beautiful woman-child and knowing that if I decided to make her mine, she wouldn’t have the strength to force me to stop. Temptation is watching her smile so sweetly, and knowing that the taste of her would be sweeter than any fruit. Temptation is wanting her as a man wants a woman, and knowing that she is far too young.
    “We need to talk.”
    “About the peaches?” she asked hesitantly. Perhaps she had misunderstood him, maybe he was displeased that she’d eaten them.
    “No, not about peaches.” Running fingers through his dark hair, Jim looked at her standing in front of him like a child prepared to accept whatever discipline he cared to administer. “March, you are welcome to eat anything in this house. You do not have to ask permission, and you don’t have to feel guilty. If there is something special you’d like to have and they stock it in the mercantile, just add it to the list and it’ll be purchased. Do you understand?”
    Yes, sir,” she replied meekly.
    “Good, now that that’s settled, let’s go to my office and get better acquainted.” He turned and headed down the hall, assuming that she would follow.
    March grabbed the lamp and slowly trailed behind him. Hesitant to intrude even at his invitation, she stopped at the doorway to his book- lined office. A lamp burned brightly on the corner of his desk, and she watched as he struck a match and lit the stack of kindling waiting in the fireplace.
    When it was burning merrily, he stood and stretched, trying to work a few of the kinks out of his tired back. His spurs jingled as he unbuckled them, throwing them carelessly onto the top of his desk. With a sigh, he lowered himself into the massive chair behind the desk.
    “Come on in, girl. Don’t just stand there like you’re afraid that something in the room will bite.”
    Setting the lamp down on a table, March sat on the edge of a wing-backed, leather chair, her hands folded primly in her lap.
    “Had any problems with the boy?” Jim asked. “None, he’s such a good baby, complaining only when he’s hungry or needs his towel changed.”
    “Good. I guess you’ve had some experience with babies, if that crowd of kids I saw were any indication.”