The Darkest Heart by Brenda Joyce Page B

said.
    She looked behind her and hurried to his saddlebags, the gunbelt and knife belt. The knife slid effortlessly out of the sheath and she knelt beside him again, slicing the bonds in one motion. The instant she had done so he was on her, flipping her beneath him, pinning her with the full weight of his body, one hand coiled in her braid, the other flinging her two hands above her head. She stared, breathless, stunned. His face was so close his breath was hot on her face.
    “Do you know the trouble you’ve caused me?”
    “I’m sorry,” she cried, meaning it. “You’re hurting me.”
    “Good.”
    They stared.
    His eyes had gold flecks in them, and his lashes were a dark, dark brown and thick and long. He had beautiful eyes, too beautiful for a man, even when so angry, although she could see the anger fading, changing, even as her own body started to relax and throb in awareness. He was hard, but not heavy. His thighs were like steel. He had quite a beard now, and his lips … his mouth was parted slightly, sensually curved, the lower lip fuller than the upper. She fixated on that mouth. Warm breath. She was vaguely aware that she might have stopped breathing, that her own mouth was slightly open, wet. Waiting. Something stirred between them, became heavy against her thigh. Her heart picked up a slow, heavy thud.
    His head moved slightly, lowering. Candice thought, He’s going to kiss me, and a hot thrill flamed through her veins. She closed her eyes, lifted her head. Their lips touched.
    It was the softest of testing, the barest of brushing.
    Candice opened her mouth wider, dazed, and pressed her hips against his, her thigh up into the fullness of his groin. His mouth opened and came down hard and voraciously on hers. The intensity was bruising, his teeth cut her mouth, his tongue plunged deep inside, taking her by surprise. He lifted his head, her lower lip between ms teeth, pulling, then came down again, opening, sucking her lips in, then parting them urgently and thrusting his tongue deep again. And again. She opened her mouth wider to admit him, a shocked heat racing through her when his tongue flicked over hers, circling it, wrestling, trying to entice hers into a response. And then he shifted his weight abruptly, so that his thick, swollen penis settled in her groin intimately. She gasped, arching.
    His hands released hers and slid down her back to grab her hips firmly, hard. His devouring mouth moved over her jaw to her neck, biting, teasing, hurting, exciting her. She arched her head back. His mouth slid abruptly down, his hands up, pushing up her breasts, and he buried his face between them.
    Candice opened her eyes in shock when he was suddenly gone. He was standing, slicing through the ankle bonds, not even looking at her, moving away to the stall with the black, leading him out. She sat up, clutching her robe to her, panting, on fire. Comprehension came cruelly. She flooded with color. Her hand clamped over her mouth. Oh, God! How could she—how could they—
    He was throwing the saddle on the black, already having strapped his guns on. He was moving with the speed of a hurricane. The cinch and then the bridle. Candice rose unsteadily to her feet. He swung his saddlebags on, strapping them efficiently. “You’re going to open the gate.”
    He still hadn’t looked at her.
    He had kissed her.
    She had let him.
    “Move,” he said, turning to her.
    She turned wide navy-blue eyes on him.
    He smiled, with no mirth. “I’m not in the mood to be hanged.”
    She moved then, although tears seemed to lurk at theback of her eyes. She hurried out into the night without the lantern, and across the yard. She could feel him behind her, and hear the horse.
    There was no sentry at night because Apaches rarely attacked at night, and never attacked their fortified spread. The bolt was heavy, and he leaned over her to throw it. She felt the heat of his chest and it made her heart slam. They thrust open the heavy