Magnolia Dawn by Erica Spindler Page A

“And a dreamer. Just like your father.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    Rush reached up and curled his fingers into her hair. It felt like dandelion down against his skin. “Then what are you, Ms. Annabelle Ames?”
    She drew in a shuddering breath, fighting for equilibrium. For control. “Why, I’m…practical. Logical. Pragma—”
    â€œUh-uh.” He tightened his fingers in her golden hair. “You’re a romantic.” He curved his hand around the back of her neck, inching her face toward his. “Soft…womanly.”
    Anna battled for an even breath. Dear God, she felt womanly. And soft. And sexual.
    Impossible. She was none of those things. She shook her head. “I assure you, I—”
    â€œOh no, Annabelle. I have your number now.” He drew her face closer. “Remember what you said the other day about Yankees?”
    She bit back a whimper, even as she found herself leaning toward him. “That we would have won the war, but you Yankees cheated?”
    Rush laughed softly and moved his fingers in slow, mesmerizing circles. “No, Annabelle. You called us brash. And we are. Brash. And bold.” He lowered his voice. “We take what we want.”
    Anna pressed her hands against his chest, her heart thundering. She searched for something to say, something bright or clever, something that would bring her crashing back to reality. Her mind was blank save for the need for his mouth, his touch.
    â€œDo you know what I want?”
    She hoped she did, but she shook her head, the breath shuddering past her lips.
    â€œThis.”
    Rush brought his mouth to hers. Softly. Carefully. As if testing her response, testing his own. He brushed his lips across hers; with the tip of his tongue he tasted the tip of hers.
    She couldn’t judge his response, but hers was cataclysmic. The blood rushed to her head, the breath from her lungs. Parts of her body that had never known heat burst into flame. She ached; she yearned.
    She wanted more.
    Her head fell back and a moan escaped from deep in her throat. She clutched at his T-shirt, alternately pulling him closer and pushing him away.
    He lifted his head, and she made a sound of protest. She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her, his expression hooded.
    He hadn’t enjoyed kissing her, she thought, self-doubt worming its way into her consciousness, replacing the delight of a moment ago. He regretted it. He knew the truth about her.
    It hurt. It hurt so badly she thought she might die. She curled her fingers in the soft weave of his shirt. “I thought you wanted to be friends,” she whispered, trying to sound glib and failing miserably.
    â€œBut I don’t believe men and women can be friends.” Rush smiled wickedly and tumbled her to her back. “Because of sex.”
    He lowered his mouth to hers once more, only this time he didn’t test; he didn’t request. He plundered. He took. And she followed, without thought or fear, self-doubt expunged by arousal.
    Wild sensations, foreign and exhilarating, raced through her. The blood pounded in her head until all disappeared but its wild, primitive beat. What was happening to her? she wondered dizzily. She’d never wanted like this…had never behaved so…wantonly.
    Anna sucked in a deep breath. The smell of the grass and the earth, of the flowers and the sun, filled her head. And with them the smell of man. This man. Of Rush. He smelled strong. Musky, like a man who had worked all day in the sun. Like a man should.
    She drew in another breath, growing drunk on the scent. Drunk and unbearably wet.
    Gasping, she tugged him closer, frantically digging her fingers into his shoulders, opening her mouth more, wanting him closer, deeper.
    â€œAnna…Anna…” Rush curled his fingers in her hair, spread out on the ground around her head. The softness of her breasts flattened against his chest as he pressed himself against