Sam's Creed. Sarah McCarty

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?