To my excerpt page.
Below are short excerpts from three of my most recent works.




Occupied Heart


The morning of the eighteenth, fighting began between the two groups of cavalry. From his medical tent, whenever he chanced to look up, he saw riders racing back and forth with messages and orders for the field commanders. Once, during a lull in the otherwise steady stream of patients, Jason tried in vain to see the battlefield. It was impossible. The dense woods, with only a few scattered clearings, were obscured by the smoke of the guns.


How could anyone tell what the hell was going on? Haunted by feelings of impending doom, he slept poorly that night,. He couldn't shake off the feeling that the dawn would bring a devastating toll in lives. The terrain was too rugged, too mighty. There would be nowhere to run, no easy way to maneuver the troops. As surely as the sun would rise over the tense, weary bodies of the men, thousands of them were going to die.


Would he be one of them?
He didn't think he was afraid of death, or of capture. But he did want to live. What man doesn't? I want to go home to Jenna, and raise our children. I want to do what I went to medical school to do. I want to make men whole, not butcher them to save their lives.
Bridges, who lay awake next to him, spoke in the darkness. “Tomorrow is going to be a horror.” His voice was shaky and Jason realized that, like himself, Bridges had lain awake a long time.
“Don't think about it,” he said tersely. “It only makes it worse.”
“Did you know we had a woman surgeon down here for a while?” Bridges abruptly changed the subject.
“A woman? Where is she now?” Interested, he turned toward the other surgeon.
Bridges raised himself on one elbow, stared at him in the darkness. “She was taken prisoner during a trip to provide medical care to civilians in the area. She must have passed through the lines dozens of times, but one day she just disappeared. Later, we heard that she was captured.”
“Amazing. Was she a good doctor?”
“Some of the others rode roughshod over her but, yes, she was a good doctor. Why does it go on?” Bridges' voice was quiet again.
“Pride and principle is what starts all wars.”
“Pride?” Bridges voice rose in disbelief.
“No one wants to be the first to say they have had enough. That they are sick of the mud, the blood, the mangled bodies. So men die until someone says they can do no more.” He folded his arm behind his head. “Men die because those we elected to think and reason for us, lost the ability to be reasonable. Neither side would budge an inch, thinking they preferred death to giving in.” He was silent for a moment. “I wonder if they still think so.”
“Good God. All this carnage and you think it's because of pride?”
He met Bridges startled glance. “Don't misunderstand me. There's a great deal at stake. The Union must stand. We would be vulnerable to invasion if it didn't. But - “ A loud slapping sound startled him into a sitting position. “What the devil?”
“Lights out means go to sleep,” a deep voice, with a touch of humor, responded.
He turned, and found himself staring at General Rosecrans. The General held his sword at his side, pointed toward the ground. Amazed, Jason realized he'd used it to whack on the side of their tent.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Gentlemen, I know it's hard to sleep, but I'm afraid you're going to need all the rest you can manage.”
“You're right, of course, sir.”
“Good night then.”
Rosecrans disappeared from the tent flap and Jason turned onto his side, trying to get comfortable on his cot. “Does he do that often?”
“I hear he enjoys it. Thinks of it as a great joke.”
“Well.” He absorbed this in silence. “Go to sleep Bridges. We're going to have a long day.”
Jason woke his tentmate just before dawn. They dressed quickly, intending to hurry to their tents and prepare for wounded. When he stepped outside, a chill chased down his spine. There was a battle line formed as far as he could see. In the gray dawn light he could barely make out an opposing line of gray uniforms that stretched for what seemed like miles. He realized, with a knot in his gut, that he was seeing something extraordinary.
Cavaliers dying on one side to preserve a way of life that was already extinct and, more on the other, to create a new path for the nation.
He stepped to a cook fire, accepted a tin of food, and a cup of coffee. He ate quickly, though he wasn’t hungry, certain of the need to hurry. No one could have an appetite, knowing the hell that was to come. But he needed his strength to save lives and he knew, with a cry in his soul, today would be the worst of all the battles he had witnessed.
He had just poured himself a second cup of coffee, when the first firing started. He downed the coffee in a scalding gulp and hurried to his medical tent. Vaguely aware of others rushing past him, he paid them no heed.
The broken bodies of the wounded would begin appearing any moment. They must be ready.
He wondered, when he could spare the thought, what the hell was going on. Men passed under his hands in a never-ending river of blood and death. Hundreds died on their way to the medical tents, hundreds more before he and the other frantic doctors could treat them. Wounded in such abundance the stretcher men couldn't handle them all. Those who could crawled from the woods, dragging shattered limbs behind them. Many more died where they lay.
It seemed that time stood still, so that enough men could die. Enough to exact the price demanded to end the taking of human life.
Outside, in the sun, the heaps of severed limbs grew appallingly high. The doctors could spare no one to dispose of them, and the stench began to overpower the smell of battle. Wedding bands and signet rings glinted in the golden light. There was no time to salvage jewelry when to wait could mean death.
He felt ill, forced to amputate limbs he ordinarily could have spared. But the time required to repair the damage meant death for other men who waited their turn. So he set his jaw and mutilated men to save them.
Battle hardened soldiers turned from the sight, their mouths working in impotent rage. Younger men, unprepared for such a brutal sight, cried aloud when confronted with the bitter reality of war. He absently noted someone vomiting, but he had no time to spare for those that were whole, at least in body. Suddenly, he became aware of silence. He raised his head and looked across at Nelson. “Is it over?”

Windmear Legacy


Deke sighed with relief as the wall panel slid shut, hid the passage from view. Safe. This time. An ominous thump from the front of the house sent his pulse racing. A second, louder, thump sent alarm surging through his veins.
“What the devil?”
“Deke? What is it?” Elizabeth’s words shook with fear, but she managed to keep her voice at a whisper.
“Go upstairs. Now.”
Every nerve tingled, alert to danger, as he spun on silent feet and crept into the front parlor. He angled himself against the wall and peered through the curtains in time to see a shadowy figure move down the porch steps and into the yard. A glance back down the hall confirmed that the window offered an unobstructed view of the panel. The knowledge sent an icy ball of fear spiraling through his belly.
They’d been so damned careful, and now this.
He drew the pistol from his waist, rushed down the hall and out the back door. Darkness was his advantage. He moved quickly across the familiar ground, his footsteps silent in the thick grass. He had to find who was out there. He had to know what they’d seen.
The moonless night made it difficult to see much, but his eyes soon adjusted to the dusky surroundings. There. Just stepping into the treeline. Hunched slightly to make a smaller target for possible gunfire, Deke moved forward, closing the distance to his objective.
His quarry disappeared in the darkness and Deke’s anxiety mounted. Then he saw movement and sprinted forward. Relief flooded through him as his hand closed around an arm. The unexpected message his hand received from the slender arm was still working its way to his brain when he jerked the shadowy form to a halt. A high, thin cry trailed away as he spun the intruder around.
A woman!
“What the devil are you doing, sneaking around here in the middle of the night?” His heart still thudding with alarm, he spoke more harshly than he intended. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth flew open in fear. Guilt fought with alarm. No point in scaring her to death. He’d never learn what she was up to if she fainted.
“I lost my way --” the woman stammered.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Who are you? Where am I?”
The evasive response infuriated him. He forced himself to speak calmly. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“What are you talking about? Why won’t you tell me where I am?”
He couldn’t be sure, but the soft voice sounded suspiciously like its owner was crying. He hesitated again, but alarm pushed aside any sympathy he felt. He had to know what she’d seen. His family’s safety was at stake. “Come along. We’ll sort this out inside.”
Without changing his hold on her arm, he strode back toward the house, dragging her behind him. The woman tried to pull away, but he didn’t slow. As he propelled her nearer to the house, she began to struggle in earnest.
“Please! At least tell me where I am.”
Deke ignored her, kept walking. He needed to see her face when he answered any questions.
“Who are you? At least tell me that!”
Busy fighting the twin burdens of fear and guilt, he was slow to respond. The woman sank to the ground, became dead weight in his grasp. Not in any mood for theatrics, he stopped, seized her by the waist, swept her into the air. She was astonishingly light, considering all the clothes women wore. He tossed her higher than he’d intended and she landed hard across his shoulder, gasping for breath.
She thrashed against him, kicking. A few of her blows struck home but, with her legs restricted by the voluminous skirts, none hurt. He folded one arm about her limbs, stripped away her ability to kick. If only she’d calm down. Right. Being carted off by a stranger was sure to calm any woman’s fears, he berated himself. Still, it couldn’t be helped.
“Let me go!”
She began to beat on his lower back with her fists. He grudgingly admired her spirit, if not her strength. Her blows, falling in rhythm with her words, were so ineffective that he might have laughed if the situation weren’t so serious.
“I said let -- me -- go!”
Tired of carrying a writhing burden, he allowed himself a small release of tension. “Damnation woman, stop acting like a child.”
At last they reached the porch. With no warning, she sank her teeth into the back of his arm. That hurt enough to get his attention. Who was this hellcat? Genuinely angry now, he used the harsh attorney’s voice he reserved for lying witnesses. “Try that again and I’ll give you the spanking you deserve -- lady or not.”
Deke stalked up the stairs, stepped inside, locked the heavy door. Then he set her on her feet so quickly she stumbled. She rubbed her arms as he lit a lamp, picked it up from a table beside the door. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to confront his mistake.
He used the lamp to hide his own features as he studied her. She was…beautiful, he decided. Black hair and skin like shimmering china. She chose that moment to moisten her lips and, while her mouth was a little too wide to be perfect, it was sensual and mobile. A mouth that would easily reveal every emotion of its owner. Her eyes were an intense cornflower blue. Yes, she was beautiful. Not that beauty mattered a damn if she intended to destroy his family. She looked confused, but not alarmed, which he found interesting.
He lifted the lamp higher and, as the light swept over them both, the woman's hand flew to her throat.
“You!”


Secrets of the Heart


Jenny stared at the empty doorway, flabbergasted by Matt’s unprecedented demands. Who did he think he was? It was her life that was ruined, not his. Men never had to worry that being caught in the wrong place, even for a moment, would mark them for life. Even when it was their fault. If he hadn’t kept her at that cabin, and --
No, that wasn’t true. Or fair. This mess was Caleb’s fault, but that was beside the point. Matthew Waring was a rude and disagreeable man.

He’d also said he would carry her bodily down the stairs and she believed every word.

Jenny allowed herself to sulk for as long as it took Polly to prepare her bath, then she leaped into motion. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of dragging her anywhere. Ever. She scrubbed her hair with short jerky motions that sent excess bubbles cascading down her neck. Damn him. Her first complete bath in almost a week and she was too mad to enjoy it. That was his fault. Even while she scrubbed, she wanted to fight back, yell at him for being so obnoxious as to threaten her. What on earth had gotten into him? He’d been so kind and now he was acting like a maniac. She ducked beneath the water to rinse her hair, then squeezed out the excess water.

“Miss Jenny? If you’re ready, I’ll help you dry your hair.”

“By all means, Polly. We don’t want to inconvenience Mr. Waring, do we?”

The maid just smiled and Jenny ground her teeth. Of course, she’d side with him. He controlled her purse strings. Jenny simmered while Polly toweled her hair dry and combed it into a simple chignon. By the time the last button on her dress closed she was nearly boiling over with resentment.

“All ready, miss.”

She shot a glance at the clock. “I still have ten minutes.”

And she intended to use every single one.
#
Matt knew he’d been hard on her but it was for the best. The sooner she got out of that bed, the better off she’d be. Hiding would only give Farly satisfaction he didn’t deserve. He leaned back in the chair and checked his watch. Six fifty-eight. Two minutes and he was going in after her. There’d be hell to pay, no doubt about it. The thought made him grin. It was odd, but he was looking forward to seeing how she would meet his challenge.

Something, a slight movement at the corner of his eye, made him look up. Jennifer stood in the doorway, eyes flashing, hands on her hips. There was nothing of surrender about her. If anything, she looked angrier than before. So. It had worked. He took a few seconds to enjoy his victory. Her bruises were more green than purple now. In a few more days they would begin to fade from view. She wore a peacock blue dress that complemented her coloring, though the garment had obviously seen better days. Satin. With her beautiful coloring, and delicate figure, she ought to wear nothing but blue satins and silks.

“Here I am, as ordered, Mr. Waring.”

Her tart words dragged his thoughts back to the task at hand. “If I’d thought an invitation would have brought you down here, I would have issued one,” he said evenly. That got her attention. He watched, carefully hiding his satisfaction, as she blinked in surprise and some of the resentment left her face. Her fists left her hips and dropped slowly to her sides. He waited until her fingers relaxed before he spoke again.

“You’re looking much better. Being angry with me put color back in your cheeks.” He stood and circled the desk, headed for the bar. “Would you like a sherry before dinner?”

“No. Thank you. I’m not really accustomed to alcohol.”

He turned away to pour a brandy for himself. “I’m glad to see your fighting spirit hasn’t entirely deserted you. I was beginning to think I might really have to haul you down here.”

“What a fraud you are.”

The words crashed into Matt’s brain and his hand froze on the decanter as he waited for her to continue.

“I should have realized you were up to something, with that magnificent performance upstairs, but you made me too angry to think.”

He started to breathe again and turned to hand her the sherry. “If you’d realized what I was up to, would it have worked?”

A reluctant smile played at the corners of her mouth. “For your information, I wasn’t wallowing in self-pity. I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how to handle Caleb.”

“Then I apologize. I was afraid you’d given up and, since cajolery wasn’t working, I thought making you good and mad might do the trick.” He gestured toward a table set for two. “We’ll eat in here, if that’s agreeable to you.”

Puzzlement flickered across her features. “Of course, but what about --”

“My mother won’t be joining us.” Thank you again, Grace. Her intended punishment had worked in his favor. Too much was riding on this dinner. The last thing he needed was for Grace to poison the air with her presence just when Jennifer was getting her bearings again. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I am.”

He heard the surprise in her voice and smiled. “I suspected you might be, once you got moving. Better pace yourself, though. We’re having French onion soup to start, beef tenderloin, vegetables, and fruit for dessert.”

“It sounds wonderful. You’ll spoil me horribly.”

Her obvious enthusiasm surprised him and he eyed her slender frame. Had the bastard starved her, too?

“Everyone needs a little spoiling once in a while,” he said mildly.

“I’m not complaining, I assure you.”

Patrick poked his head through the doorway, right on cue. “Dinner is served, sir.”

“Thank you, Patrick. We’ll eat in here.”

He seated Jennifer in the padded wingback chair, then sat across from her, as Polly served the soup. It wasn’t one of her normal duties, but the young woman liked Jennifer and, more importantly, Jennifer liked her. He wanted her to be comfortable while they were alone. Almost alone, he amended.

“Do you play chess?” he asked. The offhand question lit her eyes with such pleasure it made him ache.

“Oh, yes! I watched my father and brother play from the time I was old enough to walk. When my father asked what I wanted for my tenth birthday, I told him I wanted to learn to play chess.”

“So he taught you?”

The soup sat forgotten as he lost himself in her company. Injured and ill, she was haunting. Quiet and proper, she was lovely. Animated and relaxed, radiating a natural joy for living, she was blindingly beautiful.

“I’m afraid he didn’t find it an appropriate pastime for young ladies. Fortunately, my brother didn’t agree with him.”

Certain she wouldn’t so obviously enjoy something she wasn’t good at, he hazarded a guess at her level of play. “How long did it take you to beat him?”

Her spoon hung suspended in the air as she grinned at him. “Three weeks. Reese was mortified. He was seventeen, you see. It was days before I could get him to play again and, even then, he made me swear I’d never tell.”

Matt laughed at the unintended blow she’d struck at her brother’s pride. “We can play after dinner, if you like. I must warn you, though. I play to win.”

“It wouldn’t be any fun it you let me win,” she huffed.

“Rest assured, I’ll give you my best game.”

“But are you a good looser?” she pressed.

The mischief in her eyes was unmistakable. Just how good was she? “I’m confident I’ll handle defeat better than your brother did at seventeen,” he teased.

He started with surprise when Polly appeared to clear away the soup bowls. He’d yet to take a bite.

They chatted companionably during the remainder of the meal and Matt realized he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It was more than Grace’s absence, though that was a definite plus.

It was Jennifer.

She was charming, entertaining, and obviously ignorant of the gossip about him. There weren’t any of the sudden, awkward silences that occurred whenever someone strayed onto the forbidden topic and he never once saw that flicker of darkness in her eyes that meant someone had remembered and was judging him.

“What was it like to be in the army?”

Her sudden question shattered the illusion of peace. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know anyone else I thought would tell me the truth. Reese would have, but…”

But he’d died. The words hung unspoken in the air between them. She didn’t know what she was asking, not really, but he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her when she’d just paid him a compliment. “The truth? Being in the army mostly means being dirty and bored. There’s no privacy and it’s complicated to move a large number of men, so it takes forever to do anything. Even drilling or eating. Then you’re terrified witless for a few hours, during a battle, just to break things up. After that, being bored isn’t so bad.”

“What is drilling?”

“It’s the army’s way of teaching you to shoot and take orders, so you do it automatically when you have to. It’s boring, too, but it serves a purpose.” He turned the question back on her. “What was it like here?”

“Mostly boring, as you said, although Buchanan Hall was occupied for a while.”

The thought of Jennifer at the mercy of any soldiers made sweat pop out on his brow. “By which side?”

“The Union used it as their headquarters.” She laughed. “I’ll never forget the day they rode up the drive. It was so humiliating.”

“I imagine so,” he agreed, careful to keep his voice neutral.

Polly cleared away the dishes and disappeared from the room. They were alone again.

“I wasn’t eager to see either army show up on the lawn, but that’s not what I meant. I was trying to rescue a kitten from one of the oak trees along the drive when they rode onto the place. Just as I reached the little devil, the branch gave way beneath me and I landed in a heap - right in front of the commanding officer’s horse. Needless to say, he was startled. Particularly when his mount reared up and threw him.”

Matt choked on his coffee, laughing at the picture she’d painted. “What did he do?”

“I’m afraid he wasn’t as amused as you are,” she admitted cheerfully. “He stomped around and shouted orders until I thought he’d have a fit. I suppose he needed to salve his wounded pride.”

“Or his wounded backside.”

She giggled as Matt set the chessboard between them. “I don’t know why he was so angry. I fell much farther than he did. The next day, he told my mother I was to help with the cooking.”

“Just because you embarrassed him?” Matt was aghast.

“I suppose. I baked a beautiful cake for dinner that night. He practically licked his lips when it was delivered to his table. When he took a bite, his eyes popped right out of his head.”

“How do you know?”

“I watched from behind the door.”

“What on earth for?”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I’d used salt instead of sugar. Needless to say, he didn’t ask me to cook again.”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Her lips twitched with amusement and he wondered what else she’d gotten into.

“He asked me to iron his shirts instead.”

He gave a mock shudder. “I’m almost afraid to ask what happened.”

“I’m terribly afraid I scorched them all.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. Then he decided I was one of those useless southern belles and left me alone.”

“I’m sure he decided it was the wisest course, as well as the safest. I’m very impressed. You showed an amazing amount of courage, considering the position you were in.”

“You mean lying in a heap on the ground?”

Matt laughed again. “I think you know exactly what I meant. Now, prepare yourself for battle.”

#
For the next few hours, neither of them spoke as, move by move, they positioned their pieces on the board. Matt found himself captivated by her intense concentration as she tried to anticipate his moves. She was a skilled player, he realized. Her campaign was well organized and subtle. Then there was her advantage of being delightful to look at. He was finding it difficult to concentrate on the game.

“You have an excellent opening gambit,” he complimented her.

“Thank you, so do you. But I’m afraid flattery will get you nowhere.” She smiled sweetly to take the sting out of her words.

“Have you no mercy?”

“Where chess is concerned? None at all, I’m afraid.”

He grinned. “Good.” He swept his rook across the board. “That should give you something to think about.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re very sneaky?”

“Never.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” She promptly captured one of his knights.

“Ouch.”

She rolled the piece in her fingers. “It’s ironic that I took your knight. After all, you’ve been my knight in shining armor for several days now.”

“It seems I’ve been demoted,” he grumbled.

“Demoted?”

“Certainly. Just the other day, I was an angel. Now I’m a mere knight in shining armor.”

“I can’t be held responsible for your deterioration in rank,” she teased. “I was delirious, after all.”

“I suppose I should make allowances for that. When I think about it, being a knight in shining armor really isn’t so bad.”

“You’re very gallant.”

Her hand shot out in protest. “Selfish? Oh, no --”

“Yes, selfish.” He held her gaze. “Except for the fact that you were injured and very ill, finding you was the most diverting thing that’s happened to me since I’ve come home.”

Jenny swallowed hard as the full import of his words hit her. She’d been right. He was lonely. She didn’t know why, but she was certain he wouldn’t want to discuss it. Instead of replying in kind, she employed the light-hearted banter they’d shared earlier. “You obviously suffer from a deplorable lack of excitement in your life.”

“Hardly,” he said dryly. He toyed with one of her captured pawns. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

The meaning of his question was obvious. “Yes, I have.” She took a deep breath, preparing herself for his reaction. “I’m going home tomorrow.”

He set the piece down with a clatter. “I think you should reconsider.” “You’ve been very generous, allowing me to remain here so long. But the longer I delay the more damage Caleb can do. I have to go home and face him. I won’t let him sell Buchanan Hall.”

“Generosity was the least of my reasons for letting you stay here. And you do have another alternative. You could marry me.”

Jenny’s heart gave a painful lurch and her palms began to sweat. She leaped to her feet and hit the table with her hip. Chess pieces fell over and rolled onto the tabletop. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I can’t.”

“I didn’t make the offer out of kindness.”

“That’s not the point. It wouldn’t be right. You’ve been extraordinarily kind to me, and it’s not --”

“I told you I’m not doing this out of kindness,” he said harshly.

“It’s not right,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, “after everything you’ve done for me, that you should find yourself in this position.”

“You are a damnably stubborn woman.”

Matt shoved back his chair, strode to the window and stood, hands clasped behind him. He stared blindly into the darkness as he considered the situation. He’d told her the truth. Kindness had little to do with his offer. Something about her touched him. It was her refusal to give up, her determination to defeat the bastard who’d done this to her. He liked and respected her.

And he needed her.

As much as he hated to admit it, it was true. Jennifer Buchanan had changed his world. He liked talking to her, but she didn’t gabble mindlessly like so many women he’d known. Jennifer had spirit and brains and she used them. She fought for what she believed in but he sensed that she really cared about people. He could keep her safe and she could give him children. It seemed a fair trade.

There was only one problem. The longer it took to convince her to marry him, the more likely she would hear the gossip about him. He had to make this happen quickly, or it might never happen at all. What he was thinking would be risky. If it didn’t work out as he hoped, it would be hell.

For both of them.

Despite that, something deep inside him cried out in protest at the thought of her buried at Buchanan Hall with Caleb Farly and his damnable nephew stalking her day and night. Until he sold the place out from under her, or worse. She deserved security, someone to take care of her. If he had nothing else to offer, he could give her that much. She offered him more than she could possibly know.

A second chance.

His mind made up, he swung around to face her. “There are several things I’d like you to consider before you turn down my offer.”

“But --”

“Hear me out,” he said quickly. “I believe we’re well suited. We get along well. I like you and I flatter myself that you like me. We have similar interests and I can offer you security. It wouldn’t be a boast to say that I can afford to give you anything you might ever want or need. Including the money to preserve Buchanan Hall, now and in the future.”

“That’s not the --”

He saw her panic and suspected he knew its cause. “I’m a fair man, Jennifer. I realize you don’t know me well. Not the way a husband and wife ought to know one another. Because of that, I’d not rush you into… the physical side of marriage until you were ready. And willing.” And God help him if she was never willing. He would have consigned them both to a life of misery.

“Oh, Matt…”

“And I’d never raise my hand to you. Ever.”

“Stop. Please.”

Matt watched, in consternation, as her eyes filled with tears. The iron band clamped around his chest, made it hard to breathe. “What is it? Have I said something wrong?”

She shook her head and the tears on her cheeks glittered like diamonds in the firelight.

“It’s just that you’re such a good man, you deserve so much more than - than--”

“Come here, Jennifer.” He waited in silence as she crossed to his side. Then he reached out, tipped her head back, let his gaze linger on her full, expressive lips. “Do you trust me?” She hesitated and his heart began to slam against his ribs. If she said no? What then?

“I trust you,” she said finally.

“Then come closer.” To his relief, she did as he asked. When she stood within inches of him, he raised his hands to her shoulders. He felt the tension in her slender body and feared she might bolt any second. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said softly. “I promise I’ll stop the instant you ask me to, but I am going to kiss you. Now close your eyes.”

“But --”

He silenced her with a finger across her lips. She’d stiffened the instant he said the word kiss and he felt the chasm of fear that yawned between them. His fear of losing her. Her fear of being at his mercy. If this went badly, there would be no going back, but he had to risk it. She had to know he wouldn’t hurt her, or force her to do anything.

Ever.

“Jennifer, either you trust me or you don’t. At least give me the chance to prove that you can.” This time she closed her eyes, and he brushed his fingertips along the curve of her eyebrows. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since you told me you didn’t know angels could get wet,” he whispered.

Somewhere in a detached, still rational corner of his mind, Matt knew he wasn’t playing fair, but this was no time to stop and peel back the layers of his motivation. The moment cried out for action.

Matt framed her face in his hands and leaned closer. He forced himself to go slowly, though every fiber of his being begged to be lost in her kiss, in the fragrance of her hair.

Instead of the deep, abandoned kiss he longer for, he brushed his lips against her hair, pressed tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, gentling her to his touch. When she didn’t protest, he tasted her lips, let his mouth linger on hers. She still trembled against him and he stroked his fingers against her cheeks in a soft, soothing motion. Jenny felt the tension in his tightly coiled muscles as she slid her hands up his arms, hesitated on his chest, then completed the journey to his neck. She pushed her fingers into the crisp hair at his nape, unable to resist the instinctive desire to touch him, and felt him groan against her lips.

Her fear of the unknown resisted the fingers of warmth that slid through her limbs, and her emotional turmoil increased apace with her body’s instinctive response to Matt’s kiss. She sensed his hesitation, then gasped as he slid his tongue along the crease of her lips, urged her to relax her mouth.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she accepted the intrusion of his tongue. Something sweet and honeyed cascaded through her as he explored the contours of her mouth, eclipsing everything but him. She relaxed in his arms and let the unfamiliar feelings flow through her, knowing only that the kiss was different from anything she’d ever experienced. He pressed her closer to him, responding to her surrender, as his strong hands roamed her shoulders and back.

His fingers settled beneath her bosom and she suddenly realized how far things had gone. They were alone, in his home, and a man she barely knew was making love to her. She dragged in a panicked breath and tried to protest, but his lips muted the disjointed phrases she produced. Unable to speak, she arched away from him and pressed against his chest.

True to his word, Matt stopped and raised his head, but he didn’t release her. She’d stopped struggling but her eyes were closed and he couldn’t read her white, pinched expression. She had responded to him. To him. He was sure of it. She was too inexperienced to fake such a gradual surrender. Where had he gone wrong? He realized where his hand rested and bit back a curse. All he’d intended was a kiss. Instead he’d pushed too hard and scared her. What the hell had happened? He couldn’t ever remember losing control before, and certainly never so quickly.

He didn’t speak right away, afraid of shattering the tenuous bond that kept her at his side. Instead, he raised his hand back to her face and brushed his fingers against her cheek. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He took one of her slender hands and lay it against his chest, let her feel his thundering heartbeat, then turned it so her fingers rested against her bosom, certain her heart raced as his did.

“Feel that?”

“Yes.”

Surprise flared in her eyes when the word came out husky and he fought the urge to smile at her artless reaction. “That is a rare and magical thing. Only the luckiest of people ever experience it.” Her head dropped forward until her forehead almost rested against his chest and he held his breath. It seemed an eternity passed as he waited for her to speak, but he held himself immobile, fearing she would interpret any movement as impatience.

At last, she looked up and Matt tasted bitter defeat when he saw the quiet determination in her eyes. He’d held back a final instrument of persuasion, like a gambler playing for the highest possible stakes, and he used it now.

“There’s one other thing you should consider.” “What’s that?”

“If you marry me, Caleb can never sell Buchanan Hall. Ever.”



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