Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,20

physical pleasure escaped Sloan as she instinctively clutched his head to her with fevered fingers imbedded in his dark hair.

A twig suddenly snapped, as loud as a rifle shot in the silent glen. Sloan started, but it was Wesley who pulled away, his expression tenderly sheepish.

“Just a twig,” he chuckled, after perusing their haven with a keen and astute eye. His smile was wide with understanding amusement as he watched Sloan redden and hastily retie her top with nervous, trembling fingers. “Just a twig,” he repeated softly, drawing a gentle finger along her cheek.

Sloan met his tender gaze briefly, then her lashes fluttered and she stared at the ground, shielding her confusion from his view. He thought he understood, but he didn’t. It was not the idea that they may have been discovered in their intimate embrace that wracked her mind with horror and left her heart sputtering erratically, her nerves tense with torment.

It was the embrace itself; the wild abandon in which she had so eagerly fallen into his arms, willing—no! desperately desiring—to give him all.

In the middle of a public park.

What had happened to her?

Had she been so lonely that she had simply craved the first attractive male to come her way? No, she had dated a number of men, persistent ones at that! They had always left her feeling nothing, not even pleasant sensations. Wesley had awakened desires which had long lain dormant within her; his touch had brought to life a warm, feeling, responsive woman—a woman Sloan had thought long dead.

In fact, in all honesty, he had aroused her to greater passion than she had felt in all her twenty-nine years, and they hadn’t even...

Sloan breathed shakily. She had to get a grip on herself! Some huntress she was! But there was no denying the fact that Wesley was a supremely powerful and sensual man or that an undeniable chemistry existed between them. And, in a way, that was good. She would be able to bring him something honest in their marriage. Her blush, which had begun to recede, came back full force.

She wanted him with every bit as much fervor as he wanted her. She could openly give him passion.

But as he laughingly helped her to her feet and brushed away the pine needles and grass that stuck to her hair and clothing, she guiltily realized that all she could offer would not really be enough.

Wesley was a good man, an exceptionally good man—kind, gentle, understanding, and unassuming. He had survived celebrity status and wealth and retained compassion and kept a solid, worldly-but-uninflated head upon his shoulders.

He deserved everything that a wife should give; friendship, partnership, passion and—love.

Yet even as remorse filled her heart, he was tilting her head with firm persuasion, forcing her tremulous blue eyes to meet his sea-jade stare.

“Please don’t look like a maiden in shock,” he entreated earnestly, the dimple flashing in his cheeks. He was still amused, but her silence was causing him considerable concern.

Sloan opened her mouth to speak, but the ache in her heart caused the words to freeze on her lips. He shook his head, his smile stretching across his taut, bronzed features. She wondered fleetingly why he had to look so darned attractive just then, so masculine and virile, yet boyish with his dark hair disarrayed, his eyes dazzling mischievously, his crooked smile engagingly intent. He was twisting her apart.

But again, he was—luckily for her!—misinterpreting her reactions.

“I love you, Sloan,” he said huskily. “I told you before, my intentions are entirely honorable. Years ago, I fell in love with a wisp of a girl, an infatuation, if you will. But the dream of that girl has stayed with me all my life, paling all others. And she had her own dream, and it had to be followed.

“But now, I’ve found her again. We’re both older and wiser. And now I know I can help her with whatever her future dreams might be. I have no intention of letting her get away again!” He kissed her again, very lightly, very tenderly, very gently. “You may think I’m crazy, Sloan, and maybe I am. I may be totally insane where you are concerned. But I do love you. I want to marry you. I know it’s too early to expect an answer from such a crazy proposal, but after what just happened, I thought I should let you know how very much you do mean to me.”

Sloan managed a sick, weak smile. She had won, just like that.