skin was on fire from being pressed against him from stem to stern, not to mention her lips, which throbbed in tune with her pulse. Her body wasn’t supposed to react like that to a man. Frankie was a mess of confusion.
She gathered the spilled kindling from the ground with trembling hands. “I do hope I have not given you a false impression, Monsieur Malloy. I do not kiss complete strangers. This will never happen again.”
“I could tell.” His arrogance infuriated her.
“You are no gentleman.” She wanted to hit him for kissing her. At the same time, she wanted him to do it again.
“I never said I was.” The cocky man had the nerve to try to take her arm.
She pulled out of his grasp. “I do not need further assistance, Monsieur Malloy.”
Frankie walked away with as much dignity as she could muster. He called her name but didn’t chase after her, and she wasn’t about to stop. The tall grass made her progress difficult, but she dared not stop. She could hardly believe she had allowed him to kiss her.
Worse, she wanted to do it again.
John watched Frankie hurry away like her ass was on fire. He wanted to go after her, but he knew his job was on the line if he continued to mess with one of the settler’s daughters. No matter how incredibly tempting she was.
His dick had taken over his brain. That was the only explanation. He’d kissed her. Several times. He’d held her flush against him, like holding a piece of heaven. Jesus, the woman was made for loving, full of natural passion. He hadn’t expected that from such a prim and proper girl. She’d surprised him at the creek and now again in the field.
He stood there with the axe and wood, staring at her retreating back until the deepening darkness swallowed her. His body thrummed with the echoes of the kisses. He’d not been with a woman in months, or even longer, given the way the last experience ended. As if on cue, the scar on his shoulder twinged.
Frankie was dangerous, far more dangerous than Veronica Harvey. Not once in any of the trips he’d made previously with Buck had there been a woman who caught his eye. Now there were two females complicating things.
Frankie was trouble with a capital T. Intriguing, bossy, opinionated and sexy. He damn well shouldn’t have kissed her. Hell’s bells, how was he going to get through the next four months with a constant wooden stick in his britches?
He was no green boy sparking for the first time. John was twenty-five years old and he’d done a lot of living in that time. Damn sure shouldn’t be doing anything with any woman. The sad truth was, he didn’t have time for anyone but himself.
He spent the evening helping folks when he needed to, finding this batch of settlers to be more helpless than the last. From people who still couldn’t start a campfire to the old woman who refused to get in or out of the wagon without him to lost children and dogs who bit him. John escaped to the small creek nearby and washed off the day’s dust in the frigid water. He was in a foul mood when he finally headed for his tent by the edge of the wagons.
His boots slid along the dew-covered grass, the cold night air making the blades almost snap under his weight. The sounds of the camp had settled into low murmurs, the crackle of campfires, a crying baby in the distance and snores. Peaceful, at least somewhat. Enough to allow him to sleep, anyway.
He crawled into the tent and stopped in mid-motion. The barest hint of sound hit his ears, an intake of breath. Then he caught the scent of someone else, someone who smelled like soap. His hand crept to the pistol riding his hip. He cleared leather and strained to see the shape of whoever had dared lay in wait for him.
“You’d best start talking about why you’re here before I stain the canvas with your brains.” He cocked the pistol, the snick loud in the quietness of the small tent.
“I hope you don’t treat women like this all the time.” A
She gathered the spilled kindling from the ground with trembling hands. “I do hope I have not given you a false impression, Monsieur Malloy. I do not kiss complete strangers. This will never happen again.”
“I could tell.” His arrogance infuriated her.
“You are no gentleman.” She wanted to hit him for kissing her. At the same time, she wanted him to do it again.
“I never said I was.” The cocky man had the nerve to try to take her arm.
She pulled out of his grasp. “I do not need further assistance, Monsieur Malloy.”
Frankie walked away with as much dignity as she could muster. He called her name but didn’t chase after her, and she wasn’t about to stop. The tall grass made her progress difficult, but she dared not stop. She could hardly believe she had allowed him to kiss her.
Worse, she wanted to do it again.
John watched Frankie hurry away like her ass was on fire. He wanted to go after her, but he knew his job was on the line if he continued to mess with one of the settler’s daughters. No matter how incredibly tempting she was.
His dick had taken over his brain. That was the only explanation. He’d kissed her. Several times. He’d held her flush against him, like holding a piece of heaven. Jesus, the woman was made for loving, full of natural passion. He hadn’t expected that from such a prim and proper girl. She’d surprised him at the creek and now again in the field.
He stood there with the axe and wood, staring at her retreating back until the deepening darkness swallowed her. His body thrummed with the echoes of the kisses. He’d not been with a woman in months, or even longer, given the way the last experience ended. As if on cue, the scar on his shoulder twinged.
Frankie was dangerous, far more dangerous than Veronica Harvey. Not once in any of the trips he’d made previously with Buck had there been a woman who caught his eye. Now there were two females complicating things.
Frankie was trouble with a capital T. Intriguing, bossy, opinionated and sexy. He damn well shouldn’t have kissed her. Hell’s bells, how was he going to get through the next four months with a constant wooden stick in his britches?
He was no green boy sparking for the first time. John was twenty-five years old and he’d done a lot of living in that time. Damn sure shouldn’t be doing anything with any woman. The sad truth was, he didn’t have time for anyone but himself.
He spent the evening helping folks when he needed to, finding this batch of settlers to be more helpless than the last. From people who still couldn’t start a campfire to the old woman who refused to get in or out of the wagon without him to lost children and dogs who bit him. John escaped to the small creek nearby and washed off the day’s dust in the frigid water. He was in a foul mood when he finally headed for his tent by the edge of the wagons.
His boots slid along the dew-covered grass, the cold night air making the blades almost snap under his weight. The sounds of the camp had settled into low murmurs, the crackle of campfires, a crying baby in the distance and snores. Peaceful, at least somewhat. Enough to allow him to sleep, anyway.
He crawled into the tent and stopped in mid-motion. The barest hint of sound hit his ears, an intake of breath. Then he caught the scent of someone else, someone who smelled like soap. His hand crept to the pistol riding his hip. He cleared leather and strained to see the shape of whoever had dared lay in wait for him.
“You’d best start talking about why you’re here before I stain the canvas with your brains.” He cocked the pistol, the snick loud in the quietness of the small tent.
“I hope you don’t treat women like this all the time.” A