Page 7 of Too Hot To Handle

„Me?Pushingyou?”asked Tory, outrage in every syllable. „You – “ Her teeth clicked as she snapped her jaw shut. She badly wanted to describe Reever’s genetic heritage, most personal habits and certain destination after death, but the only words she could think of had already been used by Billy and his friends. She had no intention of joining their sordid ranks.

„You. Pushing me,“ Reever agreed flatly.

Lips still parted over words she wouldn’t speak and quivering to tell him just what she thought of him, Tory looked straight into Reever’s eyes.

It was like diving off a platform as high as the moon. She was falling, twisting, turning, but she wasn’t moving at all, everything around her was spinning, and she was motionless, suspended, held absolutely still within his gray glance as heat exploded through her.

The soft, unconscious sound that came from Tory’s throat made Reever feel as though he had walked naked into an electric fence. Every muscle in his big body tightened violently. He dragged at breath, aching. The effort it took to control himself shocked him.

„Stop it,“ grated Reever, unable to look away from Tory’s wide green eyes.

„Stop…what?“ she asked, her voice husky, her expression dazed.

For a long, seething moment Reever glared at Tory. Gradually he realized that he had been wrong in his assumption that she was one of Pay-ton’s pretty toys. Tory wasn’t experienced. She didn’t understand what was happening between them, what her soft mouth was promising, what her sweet, wild whimper had revealed. She had gotten to him faster and deeper than any woman he’d ever known – and the longer Reever was around her, the more he was afraid that she was a virgin.

„You really don’t know, do you?“ he whispered, touching the pulse beating rapidly beneath the smooth skin of Tory’s throat.

Her only answer was the visible quiver of her lips as she responded to his fingertips caressing her throat. Knowing he shouldn’t, unable to stop himself, Reever bent and brushed his mouth over Tory’s, breathing in her sweetness, tracing her trembling lips with the tip of his tongue, feeling her pulse go wild beneath his fingertip.

Slowly, very slowly, Reever lifted his mouth from hers, feeling as though he were pulling off his own skin. Her half-closed eyes were a smoldering green, her breath was uneven and her mouth followed his like a compass needle following a lodestone. His breath hissed out in a single savage word as he turned away from her.

„R-Reever?“

„Forget it, honey,“ he said roughly. „I’m too experienced for a city innocent like you to cut your teeth on.“

Tory flinched as though she had been slapped. She wanted to scream at Reever’s broad back, to tell him that he was as conceited as he was big, that she wouldn’t touch him if he were the last man in the universe. But his single gentle caress had gone through her like lightning, burning away her breath, burning away her thoughts, burning away inhibitions, freeing a surging wildness that frightened her.

Reever held Blackjack to a slow walk, not wanting Tory to have to throw her arms around his hips in order to stay on because what she would find in his lap would have shocked her to her innocent core. He clenched his teeth at the thought of her slender arms sliding around his waist, her fingers testing the power of his thighs and then finding another kind of male power, testing it with her soft hands, measuring the hunger he had for her.

Blackjack tossed his head and minced sideways against the sudden hard pressure of the bit. With a startled sound Tory grabbed Reever. He felt her fingers inside his waistband like a brand. Raging at his own lack of control, he pulled Blackjack up short and dismounted, knowing that he’d never make it back to the ranch at this rate.

„Is that as clean as it looks?“ asked Tory.

Reever’s head snapped up. „What?“

Tory bit her lip to keep it from trembling, regretting that she had spoken. Everything she did seemed to make Reever furious. Now his eyes were as cold and savage as a winter storm. She swallowed painfully. The dryness of her mouth was a goad, forcing her to speak against her better judgment.

„The water,“ Tory said huskily. „Is it safe to drink?“

Hard gray eyes glanced toward the creek as though it had just popped up out of the ground. „Yes.“

Tory had no stirrup to aid her dismount. Nor did she trust her slippery hands to hang on to the saddle and allow her to ease down to the ground. In the end she did what she had done the first time she had been confronted by a high dive and had become so frightened that she had sat down astride the diving board and refused to move. But she had had to move eventually, just as she had to move now. So she swung her right leg over alongside her left and jumped.

The ground was harder than the water in a swimming pool, and her legs were wobbly from being stretched over Blackjack’s powerful back. Favoring her injured knee threw her off balance. She knew that she had a choice between catching herself with her right leg or falling flat on her face. No choice, really. Even as she fell she turned, hoping to take the impact on her shoulder.

Hard hands grabbed Tory and yanked her back onto her feet.

„How anyone as sleek looking as you can be so damned clumsy is beyond me,“ Reever said in disgust, releasing her instantly. „Or is it just an act to get me to touch you? It won’t get you a thing, little girl. I don’t believe in on-the-job training.“

The only possible answer to that was two words long, and one of those words was at the top of the list that Tory had already forbidden herself to use. Very carefully she walked around Reever and went to the stream. She found a flat, sun-warmed boulder at the edge of the creek, eased herself slowly onto her stomach and lowered her face to the water until she could sip from its silver surface. It was cold, sweet, perfect, like drinking a torrent of winter moonlight. With a husky sound of pleasure, Tory buried her raw hands in the crystal water and lowered her face again, turning it slowly from side to side, bathing away dust and sweat.

Reever watched and felt as though Blackjack had kicked him in the stomach. Tory’s sensual pleasure in the water was as wild and pure as the creek itself. As he watched her, he could almost taste the water as she did, could almost feel its bright chill sliding down his throat and caressing his face, washing away dust and sweat, dissolving everything but the sensations of the instant. Without realizing that he had moved at all, he found himself kneeling on the bank just downstream from her, sinking his hands beneath the brilliant silver ripples, wanting simply to be touched by the water that had just flowed over her.

With a savage motion Reever came to his feet, flinging water in all directions, and strode to where Blackjack waited patiently. Tory didn’t notice, for her face was still in the sweet water, her eyes closed as she gave her attention completely to the mountain stream that had both slaked her thirst and soothed her burning palms.

„For God s sake,” Reever said finally, „what are you trying to do, drown yourself?“

Tory looked over her shoulder at him and laughed, a sound that was as rippling as the water itself. „Cowboy, the day I drown, those sidewinders you once mentioned will be ice-skating in the hottest part of hell.“