shimmer of fire in that fine head of hair.”
Beneath his stare, her eyes widened. Not from fear, but with understanding of what his words meant. He searched her face but didn’t hold back. “They won’t stop there,” he continued, pulling her toward him. “Not until they have a taste of heaven.” He felt the warmth of her hand upon his chest setting the skin below it aflame as she tried to push him back. Ignoring the pressure, he leaned closer. Her mouth opened to signal a protest, and before she had time to stiffen her arm and push him away, his lips descended upon hers.
Her lips quivered. His lips kept the pressure steady, blistering a trail over her seductive mouth. As the kiss deepened, he heard her sigh, and his tongue captured it, tracing the line of her lips from corner to corner. His arms reached to gather her into his embrace with the need of being closer. One hand slid up and threaded into the rich curls at the nape of her neck. The other supported her back as he tilted to get a better angle for their lips. Nothing in heaven could taste this good.
He could feel the movement of her hand as it arched from his chest to the side of his neck. The brush of her fingertips stoked the flames of his desire. He nibbled along her bottom lip, then trailed his mouth across her cheek until she pressed hard against him. A soft sigh led to a moan as he moved back to her mouth and slid his tongue to part the lips she willingly opened.
God forbid, he craved her, wished to devour her, and when she curled her tongue against his, Trace thought he would lose control. Blood pounding in his ears, he managed to pull his lips away. Holding her tight, he listened to their ragged breathing as she clung to him for support.
“Mary Rose, Mary Rose.” He repeated her name, pressing soft kisses to her temple, her nose, her other cheek.
Her breathing deepened, and he felt her pull slowly back, her hand pushing against his chest as she regained her balance. The swell of her bosom strained the calico she wore. Her eyes, still heavy with passion, struggled to open. But, when they did, she stared at him, her cheeks filling with color and her face with confusion. He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her lips made swollen by his actions.
“Do not go back to the freight office,” he said.
If he had thrown a bucket of ice water over her, her expression couldn’t have grown more distant. Then her shock gave way to anger and, before Trace had time to react, her open palm made contact with his left cheek. The sound broke the silence like a clap of thunder.
Her eyes wide in a blaze of female indignation, she snapped, “Your duty here, Marshal, is over.”
Trace drew himself up straight. He deserved that, he supposed, but he had needed to demonstrate how easily a man could break down her defenses. Meanwhile, she turned on her heel and stomped away. His eyes followed her across the yard and into the house. Only when the door slammed did he look away, his mouth grim.
“On the contrary, my job has just begun,” he called out.
****
Mary Rose leaned against the kitchen door and waited for her knees to regain their strength. A flurry of butterflies swirled in the pit of her belly as she wiped her lips in an effort to make his kisses no more than a memory.
“Mary Rose?”
She jerked her hand away from her face. Her eyes blinked wide as Doctor Martin looked down at her. “Are you all right?” He moved toward her. “You look a bit flushed.”
“I’m fine,” she answered, her tone sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.
His brows knitted together as his gaze ran over her. “Perhaps you need to lie down. Folks will understand.”
She jerked to attention. Her mouth pressed into a firm line. “I do not wish to lie down. I do not need people hovering over me like I’m some sort of glass doll who will break if someone shouts ‘boo.’ I am going back into that room to greet the guests who came to remember my brother and raise a glass to his passing, and I don’t care who knows or what anyone happens to think. My brother deserves a proper send-off and, by all that’s holy, it will