The Lone Rancher - By Carol Finch Page 0,27

Quin pushed off the stirrups, dragging her to the ground and onto the grass. He half covered her with his powerful body, then leaned down to kiss her as she’d never been kissed before. He stole the breath right out of her lungs, then gave it back so tenderly that she nearly wept.

She wasn’t aware that she’d clamped her fingers in his tousled hair to hold his head to hers so she could kiss him until she tired of it—and wondered if she ever would feel that way. The sensation of his mouth moving expertly over hers, his tongue stabbing provocatively between her teeth, while his hand cupped her breast, had her chanting his name as if she were entranced.

Then he eased his hips between her legs, his hard arousal settling over the place that burned so fiercely and wantonly for him that she arched upward, wondering what it would be like to be flesh-to-flesh with him, easing this maddening ache that burned her self-restraint into charred ashes.

Her breath clogged in her throat when his wandering hand dipped beneath her waistband, easing the loaded pistol aside to stroke her belly. His hand moved lower as he held himself suggestively above her. He kissed her until she begged for whatever he was depriving her of. Then his fingertips glided over the moist heat between her thighs and indescribable pleasure flooded over her in tidal waves.

When he dipped his fingertip inside her, stroking her gently, arousing her to the extreme, she gasped. Then the most incredible sensation imaginable reverberated inside her. Heat and pleasure spread through every part of her body and shimmered with one breathtaking sensation after another. She blinked up at him, astonished by the intense pleasure that expanded with each erotic stroke of his fingertip.

“Quin?” she rasped, unsure what she was asking, wanting.

He smiled down at her, then kissed her again. “Do you want me, hellcat?”

“You know I do,” she said raggedly. “I want—”

Her voice dried up when Quin suddenly jerked away, then hastily pulled her blouse back together and stuffed her discarded pistol into her hand. Then she heard the thunder of hooves and the whinny of their horses greeting the new arrivals.

“Damn it,” Quin muttered as he jumped to his feet. “Of all the rotten timing!”

Three of his cowhands were galloping toward them and Boston had yet to button her blouse and rearrange her gaping breeches after he had touched her intimately. And what’s more, his body was throbbing with the want of her and his men would know exactly what had happened if he didn’t get himself under control—and quickly.

Swearing under his breath, he swooped down to haul Boston to her feet. Then he guided her deeper into the underbrush so they could make themselves presentable and pretend all they had been doing was herding her Herefords from the grove of trees.

“I did not order my men to show up here to embarrass you and put you in a compromising position, Boston,” he felt compelled to tell her before she got the wrong idea. “Just so you know, I’m aching for you like crazy. This is pure torment. An interruption is the very last thing I wanted.”

She smiled shakily as she rearranged her clothing and plucked leaves and grass from her hair.

Turning his attention to the Herefords, Quin picked up a fallen branch to tap one heifer on the rump, as he’d seen Boston do in her corral. The others fell into step behind the lead heifer to exit the trees and underbrush.

By the time Skeeter, Ezra and another hired hand named Otha Hadley arrived, the Herefords were walking west toward the gate, while Boston spoke softly to them.

“Everything okay, boss?” Ezra asked, then nodded a polite greeting to Boston.

“No, there are suspicious goings-on,” Quin replied as he mounted Cactus. “A dozen of my cattle are carrying Boston’s brand and a half-dozen of her Herefords are on the wrong side of the fence.” He stared hard at his men. “Any of you know anything about how that might have happened?”

Skeeter thrust back his shoulders, offended. “No, boss. You know I ride for your brand. Always have. I’m not the one who ran out on you. Maybe you should ask Rocky about that.”

Boston took exception. “I can assure you that Rocky Rhodes had nothing whatsoever to do with this.” She pulled herself onto the dapple-gray thoroughbred. “I hired him because his reputation is impeccable.”

“Was. Not so sure about that now,” Ezra mumbled, then sent her an accusing