Sam's Creed

His nostrils flared. Oh yes, he would like that.

“What I’d like is for you to think over the invitation while I consider it.”

Watching him watch her, seeing the goodness in him that he hid behind a cold exterior, she realized why he was hesitating. He worried she had not thought this through. He was wrong.

She knew what she was doing. Her mother had warned her that there would come a time when she would not be able to run anymore. She had finally reached it with this man, in this wild place. And it felt right. “You think I’m running away.”

“Yes.”

“I am not.”

“Then what are you doing?”

She curled her fingers over the hand that cupped her cheek, holding on. “For once, I am taking what I want.”

“And you want me?”

She had never been more sure of anything in her life. “Very much.”

His eyes narrowed. “For how long?”

She would not ask him for more than he could give, and he was not a man who gave a woman promises. “As long as it lasts.”

His big hand settled on her thigh, weighing heavily. The utter stillness with which he touched her implied more significance than a caress. She sorted through the notion, trying to understand what it meant, but came up with no answers. Just more questions. Finally he gave her thigh a squeeze and pulled her skirt down over her legs, causing her to look at him again. Did he want her or not?

“Hold on.”

As the horse broke into a canter, only one thought perked through the conflicting messages he sent her. To what?

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