Sam's Creed

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The urge to turn her mouth to his was almost irresistible. “You asked.”

“So I did. Hold on, now.”

She already clung to him as if the bottom was about to fall out of the world. His teeth nipped her ear. His fingertips grazed her hungry flesh. She thought the rough callus might hurt, but right now it merely provided an intriguing drag. A tingling ache followed in the wake of the caress. Instinct drove her hips up the fraction it took to renew the contact. It wasn’t the same, though. It wasn’t enough to get the goodness back.

Sam’s chuckle could have been mocking. She recognized his experience the same way he had to recognize her inexperience. But it wasn’t mocking. Neither was his tone as he circled the hard nub at the top. “So nice and wet for me. I like that.”

When Isabella opened her eyes and checked his expression, she found merely an openness that comforted. Sam was enjoying touching her. Enjoying the effect of his touch on her. It gave her the courage to ask, “The wetness is normal?”

“When you’re having a good time, yes.”

He made another pass with his finger. The tingles flared to fire. She caught his hand, stilling the caress. There was something she had to know. “It does not repulse you?”

The arm supporting her back shifted, sliding up her back until his big hand cupped her shoulder. Her torso naturally shifted into the hollow created by the curve of his arm. She might be innocent, but she recognized desire when it stared at her, and Sam desired her.

“If you weren’t such an innocent, I’d show you just how much I’m not repulsed.”

She didn’t know if she could survive it. Sam clearly came from a different world than she. She’d always been pampered and sheltered from the coarser side of life, tucked away from reality, whereas Sam clearly kept his boots firmly planted in daily life. He was as earthy as he was dangerous, and, madre de Dios, he appealed to her.

Sam changed the angle, forcing her to lean back. Off balance, she felt her thighs splay farther, his hand cupping her more fully.

It was as if another person possessed her. A wanton woman who burned for the stroke of his fingers, who lived to see the satisfaction in his face when she pleased him. A woman who yearned to burn at his command.

She just didn’t know how to burn, but looking up into Sam’s face with his sensual mouth set above that square jaw and strong neck, she bet he knew how to set the fire. She licked her lips. If she was brave enough to hand him the sulphur.

His hand cupped her cheek. He held her now cradled against him, anchored at her most vulnerable points—her face and her groin. Again, she should feel threatened, and yet again she just felt…cherished. His thumb tilted her chin up.

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Are you giving yourself to me because you think it’ll guarantee you protection?”

She had to think about it.

“Would this matter if it were true? You would still have a willing woman in your bed.”

His thumb stroked her lips, pausing in the dent in the middle. “You hinting I’ve been hitting a dry spell?”

She couldn’t even find the coordination to swallow. She wrinkled her nose. “Probably not.”

“So what would be the draw?”

“I am a virgin.” Everyone knew men lusted after virgins.

“That means you lack experience.”

Shaking her head, she twisted her hand until she could grab his wrist. “Even I know that is not a negative to a man.”

“It is if you’ve reached a point where you’re not wanting to do all the work.”

“You are telling me you are lazy?”

“Laziness is a highly underappreciated quality.”

The man had not stopped moving since she had met him. He must be teasing her. She could tease, too. “But just think about it—you could train me to what you liked.”

He canted his head to the side, his gaze still on the point where his thumb touched her lip. “That would take a long time.”

“I could be a woman who learns fast.”

He pulled her lip down, seemingly fascinated with her mouth. “You have the look of a woman who’d be a lot of work.”

“I might be worth your while.”

“Keeping you around could get me killed.”

She caught his finger between her teeth. “Letting me go without teaching me will definitely get you killed.”

“By who?”

Nipping his thumb, she answered, “By me.”

Some of the seriousness slipped from his expression. “Is that a fact?”

She nodded, looking as mean as she could. “A rocksolid one.”

The smile she suspected was lurking just out of sight teased the corners of his eyes. “You think a little bit of a thing like you could make me shake in my shoes?”

She scooted down into his embrace, clutching like a talisman the inner conviction that said she fascinated him the way he fascinated her. “I think if you taught me right, I could make you quake.”

“Hell.”

He was imagining. So was she, but she did not think her images were as clear as the ones putting the heat in his eyes.

“So that is a yes?”

“Not yet.”

She liked the fact that he did not prevaricate. “But you will think about it?”

“I doubt I’ll be thinking of anything else.”

Neither would she. Her whole body was a restless ache for the satisfaction he withheld. She ran her fingernail down the placket of his shirt. “Maybe you would like me to convince you to a yes?”

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?

Chapter 6

Isabella held on as long as she could, but by the time they reached the small hollow in the side of the cliff where Sam decided it was safe to spend the night, she could barely hold her head up.

“You awake?” Sam asked as soon as Breeze came to a halt.

“Sí.”

“Your legs feeling strong enough to hold you?”

“Of course.”

His hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Then slide off, and we’ll get settled for the night.”

Nothing had ever sounded so good. Grabbing Sam’s wrist with both hands, she turned her body and slid off Breeze. It was not her most graceful moment. She kicked the horse’s shoulder and then his knee on her way down. Beyond a snort, he made no complaint. Even when her knee hit his stomach, he didn’t move. By the time her feet touched the ground she was extremely grateful for his training. Every muscle from her ankles to her shoulder blades screamed a protest. She collapsed against Breeze’s side. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s hold, she would have fallen to the ground.

“Whoa, there.”

She glanced up, wanting to cry with the sheer frustration of being so weak at a time when she wanted to be so strong. “Maybe I am not feeling so strong as I thought.”

“It looks that way. Grab on to the saddle for a second.”

She did, wrapping her fingers in the rawhide straps that dangled off assorted leather decorations. Sam swung down behind her. Immediately he wrapped his arm around her waist. Letting go, she let him drag her against him. His shoulder knocked her hat. It fell over her face.

She pushed it back and off. “I hate this hat.”

Before it could slide off her head, he tipped it right back. “Unless you’re fond of mosquitoes in your hair, you might want to leave it on.” With his free hand he untied the bedroll from the back of the saddle. Propping her against the wall, he made short work of rolling out the blankets. Locking her knees, she leaned against the warm rock, too sore and too tired to care anymore how weak she looked to him.

He motioned to the bedroll. “Here, sit.”

It was a long way to the ground. “I think I will stand, thank you.”

“You’ll be fine once you sit down.”

How would he know? She didn’t even turn her head, just stayed propped against the wall. “That is easy for you to say, but much harder for me to do.”

“Are you saying you need help?”

“I am saying I need a whole new body.”

He chuckled, more a vibration of his chest than actual sound.

“Don’t go ordering it until I get done appreciating this one.”

She glared at him. “You have a very inappropriate sense of humor.”

“Seems to work just fine for me.”

“This explains why you are alone.”

“I am not alone. I’m Hell’s Eight, remember?”

He held out his hand. She placed her palm in his.

“You are alone in every way that matters.”

He shook his head. “You think too much.”

“You said I could.”

He braced his arm. “So I did.”