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His black eyes searched her face. "Tess, an experienced man doesn't grab. Ever. He doesn't have to.
And French kisses need to be worked up to, very slowly."
Her heart was really going now. It shook the cotton blouse she was wearing. She stared at the chaps
where Cag's long fingers were resting, and remembered the feel of his lean, strong hands.
"Embarrassed?" he asked softly.
She hesitated. Then she nodded.
His heart jumped wildly as he stared at her, unblinking. "And curious?" he added in a deep, slow
drawl.
After a few seconds, she nodded again, but she couldn't make herself meet his eyes.
His hand clenched on the pommel of his saddle as he fought the hunger he felt to teach her those
things, to satisfy her curiosity. His gaze fell to her soft mouth and he wanted it. It was crazy, what he
was thinking. He couldn't afford a lapse like that. She was just a kid and she worked for him...
She heard the creak of leather as he swung down out of the saddle. After a minute, she felt his lean
hands hard on her waist. He lifted her down from the horse abruptly and left the horses to drink their
fill.
The sun filtered down to the ground in patterns through the oak leaves there, in the middle of
nowhere, in the shelter of the trees where thick grass grew on the shallow banks of the stream and
open pasture beyond the spot. The wind whipped around, but Tess couldn't hear it or the gurgle of the
stream above the sound of her own heart.
His hands felt rough against her skin. They felt as if he wasn't quite in control, and when she looked
up at him, she realized that he wasn't. His face was like steel. The only thing alive in it was those black
Spanish eyes, the legacy of a noble Madrid ancestry.
She felt her knees wobble because of the way he was looking at her, his eyes bold on her body, as if
he knew exactly what was under her clothing.
The thought of Callaghan Hart's mouth on her lips made her breath catch in her throat.
She'd always been a little afraid of him, not because she thought he might hurt her, but because late at
night she lay wondering how it would feel if he kissed her. She'd thought about it a lot lately, to her
shame. He was mature, experienced, confident, all the things she wasn't. She knew she couldn't handle
an affair with him. She was equally sure that he wouldn't have any amorous interest in a novice like
her. She'd been sure, she amended.
Because he was looking at her now in a way he'd never looked at her before.
Her cold hands pressed nervously into the soft cotton of his shirt, feeling the warmth and strength of
his chest under it.
"Callaghan," she whispered uncertainly.
His hard lips parted. "Nobody else calls me that," he said tersely, dropping his gaze to her mouth. He
liked the way she made his name sound, as if it had a sort of magic.
Her fingers spread. She liked the feel of warm muscle under the shirt, and the soft, spongy feel of
thick hair behind the buttons. He was hairy there, she suspected.
He wasn't breathing normally. She could feel his heartbeat against her skin. Her hands pressed
gingerly against him, to explore, hesitantly, the hardness of his chest.
He stiffened. His hands on her waist contracted. His breathing changed.
Her hands stilled immediately. She looked up into glittery black eyes. She didn't understand his
reactions, never having experienced them before.
"You don't know anything at all, do you?" he asked tersely, and it sounded as if he was talking to
himself. He looked down at her short-nailed, capable little hands resting so nervously on top of his
shirt. “Why did you stop?'
"You got stiff," she said.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Stiff?"
He looked as if he was trying not to smile, despite the tautness of his face and body.
"You know," she murmured. "Tense. Like you didn't want me to touch you."
He let out a slow breath. His hands moved from her waist to cover her cold fingers and press them
closer. They felt warm and cozy, almost comforting. They flattened her hands so that she could feel
his body in every cell.
She moved her fingers experimentally where the buttons ran down toward his belt.
"Don't get ambitious," he said, stilling her hands. "I'm not taking off my shirt for you."
"As if I would ever...!" she burst out, embarrassed.
He smiled indulgently, studying her flushed face, her wide, bright eyes. "I don't care whether you
would, ever, you're not going to. Lift your face."
"Why?" she expelled on a choked breath.
"You know why."
She bit her lip, hard, studying his face with worried eyes. "You don't like me."
"Liking doesn't have anything to do with this." He let go of her hands and gripped her elbows, lifting
her easily within reach of his mouth. His gaze fell to it and his chest rose and fell roughly. "You said
you were curious," he murmured at her lips. "I'm going to do something about it."
Her hands gripped his shirt, wrinkling it, as his mouth came closer. She could taste the coffee on his
warm breath and she felt as if the whole world had stopped spinning, as if the wind had stopped
blowing, while she hung there, waiting.
His hard lips just barely touched hers, brushing lightly over the sensitive flesh to savor it.
Her eyes closed and she held herself perfectly still, so that he wouldn't stop.
He lifted his head fractionally. She looked as if she couldn't bear to have him draw back.
Whatever she felt, it wasn't fear.
He bent again. His top lip nudged under hers, and then down to toy with her lower lip. He felt her
gasp. Apparently the kisses she'd had from other men hadn't been arousing. He felt her hands tighten
on his shirt with a sense of pure arrogant pleasure.
He brought both lips down slowly over her bottom one, letting his tongue slide softly against the
silky, moist inner tissue. She gasped and her mouth opened.
"Yes," he whispered as his own mouth opened to meet it, press into it, parting her lips wide so that he
could cover them completely.
She made a tiny sound and her body stiffened, but he ignored the faint involuntary protest.
His arms reached down, enclosing, lifting, so that she was completely off the ground in a hungry,
warm embrace that seemed to swallow her whole.
The kiss was hard, slow, insistent and delicious. She clasped her hands at the back of Cal's neck and
clung to it, her mouth accepting his, loving the hard crush of it. When she felt his tongue slipping past
her lips, she didn't protest. She opened her mouth for him, met the slow, velvety thrust with a husky
little moan, and closed her eyes even tighter as the intimacy of the kiss made her whole body clench
with pleasure.
It seemed a long time before he lifted his head and watched her dazed, misty eyes open.
He searched them in the heady silence of the glade. Nearby a horse whinnied, but he didn't hear it. His
heart was beating in time with Tess's, in a feverish rush. He was feeling sensations he'd almost
forgotten how to feel. His body was swelling, aching, against hers.
He watched her face color and knew that she felt it and understood it.
He eased her back down onto her feet and let her move away a few inches. His eyes never left hers
and he didn't let her go completely.
She looked as stunned as he felt. He searched her eyes as his big hand lifted and his fingers traced a
blatant path down her breast to the hard tip. She gasped, but she didn't try to stop him. She couldn't,
and he knew it.
His hand returned to her waist.
She leaned her forehead against him while she got her breath back. She wondered if she should be
embarrassed. She felt hot all over and oddly swollen. Her mouth was sore, but she wished his hard
lips were still covering it. The sensations curling through her body were new and exciting and a little
frightening.
"Was it just... a lesson?" she whispered, because she wanted to know.
His hands smoothed gently over her curly head. He stared past it, toward the stream where the horses
were still drinking. "No."
"Then, why?"
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