Instinctively they grabbed for each other, teetered, then righted themselves. Her face was buried in his shoulder, and she began to giggle.
"You wouldn't laugh if you'd landed on your back and broken your… eggs." His hand was deep in her hair. It shouldn't be, he knew, but it was so soft, and the neck beneath was so slender.
"I always laugh when I escape catastrophe." Still smiling, she looked up. Her face was flushed, her eyes glowing. Without thinking, without being able to think, he tightened the arm around her waist. The smile faded, but the glow in her eyes deepened. He was so close, his body so hard, and be was looking at her as though they'd known each other all their lives rather than one day.
She wished they had. She wished desperately that they had and that he was someone she could talk to, share with, lean on, just a little. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck and she shivered, though they were warm.
"I should have warned you—" she began. Suddenly she found her heart was beating too fast to allow her to think, much less speak.
"Warned me about what?" It was crazy. It was wrong. He had no business forgetting his purpose here in this sudden wild desire to taste her. But crazy or not, wrong or not, he wanted to feel her mouth meet his and give.
He lowered his head, watching her. The sun shone on her face, warm and bright, but her eyes were shadowed, and as wary as the mare's had been when he'd slipped the halter over her head.
"The path." Abby inched her head back in a gesture of confusion that was easily mistaken for teasing. Her eyes never left his. Her lips parted. "It gets slippery."
"So I found out." The fingers at the nape of her neck pressed lightly, drawing her closer, still closer, until their lips were only a whisper apart.
Longings, needs she'd thought she'd finished with, sprang out fresh and terribly strong. She wanted, oh, she wanted to give way to them and feel. Just feel. But she'd always been the sensible one. Only once had she forgotten that, and… She couldn't forget again. "Don't."
His mouth brushed over hers, and he felt the tremulous movement he knew women used as seduction. "I already have."
"No." She was weakening. The hand that she brought to his chest simply lay there. "Please don't."
Her breath was unsteady, her eyes half-closed. Dylan had little respect for a woman who pretended reluctance so that a man was left with the responsibility. And the blame. Need crawled through him, but he released her. His eyes were flat and cool as he nodded. "Your choice."
She was chilled and churning. There was something biting, something hurting, in his tone, but she couldn't think about that now. Careful of the melting ice, she picked her way back to the house.
After using the boot pull on the back porch, she took the eggs to the sink and began washing up. Dylan came in behind her. "If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll have something hot."
"Take your time." He walked past her and out of the kitchen.
She washed each egg meticulously, waiting for her mind to empty and her system to calm. Serenity was what she relied on, what she'd worked for. She couldn't allow an accidental embrace with a man she barely knew to change that. Hadn't he released her without a second's hesitation? Abby began to put the eggs in one of the empty cartons she kept under the sink. He was safe. She only sighed over that once.
She'd never been terribly sexual in any case, she reminded herself as she pulled a slab of bacon from the refrigerator. Hadn't Chuck pointed that out with complete clarity? She simply wasn't enough to fulfill a man's needs. Abby heated the cast-iron skillet and watched the bacon bubble and shrink. She was a good wife, dependable, responsible, sympathetic, but she wasn't someone a man burned for in the middle of the night.
She didn't need to be. She put on more water for coffee. She was happy being what she was. She intended to go on being what she was. Taking a deep breath, she
"You wouldn't laugh if you'd landed on your back and broken your… eggs." His hand was deep in her hair. It shouldn't be, he knew, but it was so soft, and the neck beneath was so slender.
"I always laugh when I escape catastrophe." Still smiling, she looked up. Her face was flushed, her eyes glowing. Without thinking, without being able to think, he tightened the arm around her waist. The smile faded, but the glow in her eyes deepened. He was so close, his body so hard, and be was looking at her as though they'd known each other all their lives rather than one day.
She wished they had. She wished desperately that they had and that he was someone she could talk to, share with, lean on, just a little. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck and she shivered, though they were warm.
"I should have warned you—" she began. Suddenly she found her heart was beating too fast to allow her to think, much less speak.
"Warned me about what?" It was crazy. It was wrong. He had no business forgetting his purpose here in this sudden wild desire to taste her. But crazy or not, wrong or not, he wanted to feel her mouth meet his and give.
He lowered his head, watching her. The sun shone on her face, warm and bright, but her eyes were shadowed, and as wary as the mare's had been when he'd slipped the halter over her head.
"The path." Abby inched her head back in a gesture of confusion that was easily mistaken for teasing. Her eyes never left his. Her lips parted. "It gets slippery."
"So I found out." The fingers at the nape of her neck pressed lightly, drawing her closer, still closer, until their lips were only a whisper apart.
Longings, needs she'd thought she'd finished with, sprang out fresh and terribly strong. She wanted, oh, she wanted to give way to them and feel. Just feel. But she'd always been the sensible one. Only once had she forgotten that, and… She couldn't forget again. "Don't."
His mouth brushed over hers, and he felt the tremulous movement he knew women used as seduction. "I already have."
"No." She was weakening. The hand that she brought to his chest simply lay there. "Please don't."
Her breath was unsteady, her eyes half-closed. Dylan had little respect for a woman who pretended reluctance so that a man was left with the responsibility. And the blame. Need crawled through him, but he released her. His eyes were flat and cool as he nodded. "Your choice."
She was chilled and churning. There was something biting, something hurting, in his tone, but she couldn't think about that now. Careful of the melting ice, she picked her way back to the house.
After using the boot pull on the back porch, she took the eggs to the sink and began washing up. Dylan came in behind her. "If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll have something hot."
"Take your time." He walked past her and out of the kitchen.
She washed each egg meticulously, waiting for her mind to empty and her system to calm. Serenity was what she relied on, what she'd worked for. She couldn't allow an accidental embrace with a man she barely knew to change that. Hadn't he released her without a second's hesitation? Abby began to put the eggs in one of the empty cartons she kept under the sink. He was safe. She only sighed over that once.
She'd never been terribly sexual in any case, she reminded herself as she pulled a slab of bacon from the refrigerator. Hadn't Chuck pointed that out with complete clarity? She simply wasn't enough to fulfill a man's needs. Abby heated the cast-iron skillet and watched the bacon bubble and shrink. She was a good wife, dependable, responsible, sympathetic, but she wasn't someone a man burned for in the middle of the night.
She didn't need to be. She put on more water for coffee. She was happy being what she was. She intended to go on being what she was. Taking a deep breath, she
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