Page 8 of Too Hot To Handle

A corner of Reever’s mouth kicked up unwillingly at the image. „You’re good in water, is that it?“

„I get by,“ she said, coming to her feet, wincing slightly as her right knee bumped against the stone Unselfconsciously she wiped her face on the hem of her loose T-shirt Even if she had known that the movement revealed a sleek, tanned strip of her skin from her waist to just below her breasts, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. She was accustomed to being wet and to drying herself on anything handy. She was also accustomed to being all but naked and utterly ignored by the males around her.

Reever frowned, unable to understand Tory’s conflicting actions. He touched her and she went off hot enough to burn both of them to the bone, yet she seemed unaware of what she was doing. Although she seemed innocent, she was as unself-conscious as a cat around him. She wasn’t immodest; it was just that she seemed unaware of the sensual possibilities of her own body and how easily, how violently, she could arouse men. She was… unawakened.

The thought of being the man to awaken her was a sweet agony in his loins.

Tory walked over to Blackjack, who snuffled gently at the damp tendrils curling around her face where her hair had fallen into the water. She laughed softly, delighted by the horse’s velvet muzzle and tickling, grass-scented breath.

„What –?“ she gasped as she felt herself snatched off her feet without warning.

„Spread your legs,“ said Reever impatiently.

Speechless, she stared over her shoulder at him.

„God save me from useless city girls,“ he grated.

His grip shifted. Even as he swung Tory up toward the saddle, his right hand slid down her back, over her buttocks and fastened on the inside of her right thigh, forcing her legs apart. An instant later she was dumped into Blackjack’s saddle with about as much ceremony as a hog-tied calf.

„It’s called riding stride,“ Reever bit out. „It’s an old custom among us rustics.“

Tory’s startled, wildly flushed face confirmed Reever’s worst fears. She definitely was not used to a man’s hands on her sleek body.Passionate as hell and innocent as heaven.

A virgin who’s too hot to handle. Why me, Lord?he asked bitterly.Why me!

„Try not to faint when I get up behind you,“ he said curtly.

Tory didn’t know what Reever meant until he stepped into the stirrup and swung into the saddle as though she weren’t already sitting there. With a startled sound she scooted forward, giving him as much room as she could.

The saddle was big – but so was Reever. The saddle was also higher at the front and back than in the middle, a design that helped to keep the rider in place. It also ensured that the only way Tory could rest her weight was smack up against Reever in an intimacy that made her cheeks burn. It made Reever burn, too. His only consolation was that Tory was probably too innocent to know that not all of the hard flesh pressing against her hips was muscle.

It was a small consolation for a problem that would get bigger with each rocking motion that Blackjack made.

„Do we have to – “ began Tory, only to gasp as the horse stepped forward eagerly, sending her sliding down into the hot, hard cradle of Reever’s thighs.

He heard her breath come in sharply. He saw the shiver of sensation that raced through her, goose bumps clear on her skin. He knew without seeing that her nipples would be rising and tightening, nuzzling against the soft cioth of her T-shirt, searching for a man’s caress to ease their sensual ache.

Tory scooted forward again, only to slide back. Grimly she shifted her weight, trying to find a position that wouldn’t surround her with Reever’s male heat.

„Goddammit,“ growled Reever, putting his right arm around her hard, pinning her in place. „Stop wiggling!“

„Put me in back again!“ Tory said desperately.

„You wouldn’t last three seconds.“

„But I rode all the way here without – “

Tory’s protest ended in a yelp as Blackjack leaped into Wolf Creek with the abandon of a child, dividing the hock-deep water in glorious sheets that sprayed head high on either side of him. Tory clutched wildly at the saddle horn, but it was Reever’s steel grip that kept her in the saddle.

Reever tried to be a gentleman and ignore the feel of Tory as his fingers spread wide to hold her in place. But before Blackjack had finished plunging through the creek and up the bank on the far side, Reever knew that Tory’s loose T-shirt concealed lush, firm breasts. He also had searing confirmation of his earlier guess – her nipples were as hard as he was and every bit as eager to be touched. The tip of her breast had tightened violently as his fingers accidentally brushed over it when he had to shift his grip at Blackjack’s first leap.

Desperately Tory hoped that Reever hadn’t heard her gasp when his hand had held her so intimately for just an instant, but there was little hope that he wouldn’t notice the flush of embarrassment climbing her neck and flooding her face. She stiffened and leaned away from him, an instinctive reaction that was utterly wrong for the time and the place. She heard him swear violently and wrap his other arm around her to keep her upright in the saddle.

With a combination of fascination and embarrassment, Tory saw Reever’s muscular forearm slide beneath her breasts, taking their soft weight, pushing her tight nipples against her water-splashed shirt. Each of Blackjack’s rhythmic movements made her breasts sway against Reever’s supporting arm. She twisted helplessly, trying to retreat from the intimate contact, but only ended up rubbing against his body even more.

„For God’s sake, relax,“ said Reever harshly. „You’ve got nothing up top that I haven’t felt more of and better.“

For an instant Tory couldn’t believe what she had heard. Then she believed it. A bitter tide of humiliation washed all the color from her face.