Page 39 of Too Hot To Handle

The first powerful movement of Reever’s body made Tory gasp. The second movement inflamed nerves still shivering in the aftermath of ecstasy. The pleasure was so intense that she had to bite her lip against a scream. Desire burst through her as she felt every muscle in Reever’s body become rigid with sensual tension. She smelled the heady, musky heat of his skin and was deeply aware of every motion he made within her. He moved again and then again, harder, deeper, faster, ripping the world away from her with each potent motion of his body.

Tory didn’t know that her nails raked down Reever’s back as she wept and shuddered and cried her wild ecstasy. She knew only that she could feel no greater pleasure without dying. She tried to tell Reever that she could bear no more, but no words came to her in her need, only explosions of greater and greater ecstasy. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Dimly she heard her name torn from his throat in a harsh, broken cry as his control burst into a shattering release. With all his power he locked himself so deeply within her that each pulse of his pleasure was a live current touching her. Her whole body shook with the violence of the ecstasy sleeting through her. Wave after wave of pleasure transformed her, wringing sweet cries from her as each expanding ring of ecstasy swept through her and burst.

Slowly, slowly, the world condensed again around Tory. There was the untamed blue of sky and the rippling green of summer grass and the tan of Reever’s face as he watched Tory darkly. He was holding her with bruising strength, still locked deeply within her. Somewhere a voice whispered, /love you, I love you, I love you,as though a breath could not be taken without that elemental truth being spoken.

At first Tory thought that she was dreaming – and then she realized that she was awake, that Reever was watching her with eyes that were the color of steel and that it was her own voice whispering the forbidden words to him.

Ilove you.

For the hundredth time Tory relived the long, silent ride back to the ranch. Reever had been ach-ingly tender with her, treating her as though she were made of the most fragile china. He had said nothing, done nothing to indicate that he had heard her helpless admission of love. But he had heard. She was sure of it.

He hadn’t touched her since then.

Five days. Each day longer than the one before, shorter than the one to follow. It wasn’t a return to the harshness of the time before they had become lovers. Reever continued to treat Tory with a gentleness that made her throat close around silent screams – because beneath that unfailing kindness she sensed him sliding away from her, retreating, easing apart from her so very carefully, not wanting to cause her any more pain.

He did not love her.

With each breath Tory took, that terrible certainty turned in her soul like a razor. She didn’t even know if Reever desired her physically any more. He was so kind to her. Too kind. When he looked at her – if he looked at her at all – there was none of the leashed passion that once had turned his eyes to a smoky crystal blaze. There was only the kind of sorrow that made the razor of loss turn more deeply in her, her life bleeding away secretly, tears wept in darkness, unseen, unheard, untouched, unknown.

„Hi, Tory,“ said Dutch, shutting the lodge’s kitchen door behind him and looking hopefully toward the huge, shining stove. „What’s cooking?“

Tory blinked and looked down at her hands. She was cutting beef into cubes. That meant stew. Had she made stew last night or the night before? She couldn’t remember. She hadn’t even known what she was cooking until she looked down and saw the red chunks waiting to go into the seasoned flour.

„It looks like stew from here,“ she said.

„Great!“ Dutch said enthusiastically. „We haven’t had that for a week. Lots of gravy, okay?“

„Swimming in it,“ Tory promised, feeling as though she should make a note in the spilled flour on the counter before she forgot. She was living on automatic pilot. It had to stop. She had never been like this before, no matter how crushing a loss had seemed to her at the time.

Why won’t Reever even talk to me? Why does he slide like water through my fingers every time I try to speak to him alone?

It would be different tonight. If there were no other way, she would wait until he went to bed, and then she would corner him in his bedroom. She would – „Watch it!“ cautioned Dutch.

Even as he spoke, the knife that Tory was using slipped, drawing a red line over her finger. Without making a sound, she put down the knife, turned and went to the sink. She held her fingei under the cold water streaming out of the faucet.

„Is it bad?“ Dutch asked anxiously, hovering over her.

„Is what bad?“ asked Reever from the doorway.

Tory’s heart turned over just at the sound of Reever’s voice. Her breath stopped, then came in harshly.

„She cut her finger,“ Dutch said.

„Let me see.“

Tory shook her head, keeping her back turned to Reever, feeling hot and cold and dizzy, and her body shivered like a crystal glass struck by a careless hand. She was afraid. If Reever touched her, she would fall apart. She loved him. He had wanted her with a passion that had set them both afire. But now he didn’t want her. She had waited, hoping with each hour, each minute, each second, that he would come to her. He had not. The longer she stayed close to him, the more unbearable her loss became. She was tearing herself apart, teetering on the instant of shattering.

The wild seething of Tory’s emotions shocked her. In that moment she knew that she wouldn’t corner Reever tonight or any other night. There was no reason to, except to hurt herself even more by refusing to accept the reality of her relationship with him. Reever had nothing to say to her that he hadn’t already said – she had all the qualifications to be his lover and none of the ones to be his beloved. He had told her so the first day. She just hadn’t believed him then.

She didn’t want to believe him now. How could she love so deeply and not have it returned, even a little?

Dizzy, feeling the world slipping away from her grasp, Tory fought for self-control.

„Dutch, check on Blackjack, will you?“ Reever said carefully, seeing the color drain completely from Tory’s face. „I think his right foreleg might be swollen.“

Dutch had just seen Blackjack, and the horse had never looked better. A glance at Reever’s bleak eyes froze Dutch’s protest in his throat. He turned and went out the back door without a word.

„Let me see it.“