Whip pushed Shannon out of danger even as he spun to face the attacking dog. Horrified, Shannon watched Whip yank the coiled lash off his shoulder. His left arm collided with Prettyface in mid-leap.
Man and dog went down in a snarling, cursing tangle. Prettyface ended up on top. His teeth were sunk into Whip’s left hand and the coils of leather it held.
«No, Prettyface!No!»
Shouting and yanking frantically, Shannon tried to drag Prettyface off Whip. The dog ignored her.
Whip didn’t.
«Get the hell out of the way!» he ordered.
«But —»
Shannon never finished her objection. With a powerful movement of his body, Whip turned over, dragging Prettyface beneath him and sending Shannon staggering away from the fight.
She caught her balance on the old trunk full of books and looked around wildly for something to use that would subdue Prettyface. But there was nothing at hand that would free Whip before Prettyface got his feet under him again and sank his teeth into Whip’s throat.
«Prettyface! No!»
Her shouts had no effect.
Struggling, flailing, man and beast slammed into the legs of the old table. It skidded and crashed against the bed, sending blankets flying. An instant later the table careened into the front door, propelled by the thrashing bodies.
Now all Shannon could see was the corded muscles of Whip’s back and Prettyface’s hind feet raking Whip’s legs.
«Stop it!»
Even as she screamed, Shannon knew it wouldn’t do any good. Prettyface had no intention of surrendering.
Shannon’s wild glance fell on the bucket of steaming water on the stove. She reached for the bucket, but a single touch told her that the water was much too hot. It would scald Whip and yet was much too hot. It would scald Whip and yet barely penetrate Prettyface’s thick coat.
Abruptly the sounds of the struggle diminished. Shannon looked around.
Prettyface was on top. Whip wasn’t moving very much at all.
«Oh, God,» Shannon cried. «Whip!»
There was no answer.
Shannon lunged across the room and yanked away the table that was blocking the door. She dragged the shotgun from its pegs over the top of the door frame. Tears running down her face, she cocked the shotgun and turned back to shoot the dog that believed he was defending her.
But he wasn’t. He was killing Whip.
«Put that damned gun down,» Whip said grimly. «I’m not going to kill your mongrel wolf. But by God I’m going to teach him some manners.»
Shannon was too shocked at hearing Whip’s voice to tell him that Prettyface had been her target. Impatiently she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked again, thinking tears must have blurred her view of what was happening.
She saw the same thing she had seen before. Whip was mostly on the bottom of the pile, and he wasn’t moving very much at all. Prettyface’s muzzle was still pressed against Whip’s neck.
Abruptly Shannon realized that the dog’s teeth were set in the bullwhip rather than in Whip’s throat.
Relief swept through Shannon, only to give way to dismay. Whip’s left hand was jammed into the dog’s mouth along with the bullwhip. Dismay became fear when she realized that Whip’s other hand was clamped around Prettyface’s windpipe.
Whip was slowly choking air and life out of her dog.
«You’re killing him!» Shannon cried.
«The hell I am. The son of a bitch is still kicking like a steer.»
«Let go! He’s barely moving!»
«Barely is too damn much with a beast this size.»
Whip bore down harder with his right hand. His mouth was set in a harsh, determined line.
«Whip!»
He ignored Shannon, even when she grabbed his hand and tried to drag it away from Prettyface’s throat. When she set her feet and started to pry at his thumb with both hands, he gave her a glittering, narrow-eyed look.
«Get out of the way before you get hurt,» Whip said through his teeth.
Shannon kept clawing at his hand.
Prettyface kicked feebly and went limp.
Abruptly Whip released the pressure on the dog’s windpipe. Slowly the animal slid off Whip’s chest onto the floor and lay without moving, as slack as a pile of wet laundry.
«You killed him!» Shannon cried. «Damn you, Whip! You killed him!»
«Hell,» Whip said in disgust. «If I’d wanted to kill him, I would have broken his neck when he jumped me.»
Wordlessly Shannon shook her head, denying Whip’s words. Sobbing quietly, she tried to go to Prettyface, only to find her way barred by Whip’s hard arm.
«He’s not dead,» Whip said roughly. «Look at his flank. He’s breathing just fine now that my fingers are off his windpipe.»
Hurriedly Shannon wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked at Prettyface. The dog’s flank was indeed rising and falling slowly, dragging air back into his lungs.
«Thank God,» she whispered.
Shannon tried to go forward again, and again found her way barred by Whip.
«Go stand by the stove,» he said.
«But I want to —»
«Right now what you want doesn’t matter a whole lot,» Whip interrupted, his voice harsh. «You had your turn at controlling this beast and you couldn’t do it. It’s my turn now.»
«But —»
Whip looked up at Shannon.
«Move,» he said softly.
Too softly.
«Don’t hurt him any more,» Shannon pleaded. But she was backing toward the stove while she spoke. Like Whip’s voice, his eyes were calm, clear, and cold as a dagger made of ice.
Prettyface whimpered and tried to raise his head. Instantly Whip was there, holding the dog’s head against the floor, making it impossible for Prettyface to regain his feet.
«Easy,» Whip said in a gentle tone. «Before you get up and start feeling feisty again, focus those damned throwback eyes on me and know who’s head wolf around here.»
Prettyface whined softly. He blinked his yellow wolf’s eyes and looked around to see what was holding him down.
The dog met Whip’s eyes, recognized him, held the man’s glance for the space of a breath…and then Prettyface looked away, silently acknowledging that Whip was the master.
Nor did the dog attempt to get up again.
«That’s it, Prettyface,» Whip said, stroking the dog’s head gently. «I knew you were a damn sight smarter than you looked. All you needed was proof that you weren’t the master.»
Prettyface whined and tentatively midged Whip’s hand.
«Hello, boy,» Whip murmured, rubbing the dog’s head, reassuring him. «We’re going to get along a lot better from now on, aren’t we?»
A long, rough tongue swept over Whip’s bloody hand.
«Like that, do you?» Whip laughed. «You’re a hell of a fighter, Prettyface. Now you need to learn how to be a partner, too.»
When Whip’s fingers ran over every inch of Prettyface’s body, the dog stiffened, but he didn’t object in any other way to the man’s touch. Even when Whip probed between the sensitive pads on the dog’s feet, Prettyface didn’t so much as growl.
Shannon was shocked.
«All right, Prettyface,» Whip said, rubbing the dog’s ears affectionately. «I think you got the point. You take orders around here. You don’t give them.»
Whip came off the floor with a catlike grace that was startling in such a big man. The bullwhip was still in his left hand, still coiled.
«Up you go, boy,» Whip said.
Prettyface came to his feet, shook himself thoroughly, and looked at Whip.
Whip opened the cabin door.
«Go out and rustle your breakfast instead of trying to eat me,» Whip suggested dryly.
Prettyface looked once at Shannon, then trotted outside. Whip shut the door.
«You broke his spirit,» she said hoarsely.
«No, I just —»
«You’re like the Culpeppers,» Shannon interrupted wildly.
Her voice was cold. Her body shook with rage and fear and the aftermath of too much adrenaline.
«The hell I —» began Whip.
«You’re cruel and you’re brutal. You force anything weaker than you to grovel at your feet!»
Whip took one gliding step toward Shannon, then another. His eyes were like hammered silver. Blood dripped from cuts on his left hand.
He looked as dangerous as he was.
Shannon’s heartbeat doubled, but she didn’t back up one step. She couldn’t. She didn’t trust her legs to hold her.
«Prettyface,» Whip said softly, coldly, «is a spoiled, savage mongrel that weighs more than most men. He has too much wolf in him to understand anything from a man but force. So I beat him at his own game. Force. Now he’ll accept me.»
Shannon’s chin came up defiantly, but she was smart enough not to say a word. Whip was right and both of them knew it. She just didn’t like hearing it put so bluntly.
«As for the rest of your tirade,» Whip said, «when you give yourself to me — and you will — it won’t be because I choked you into submission. If that was all I wanted, I would have killed Prettyface the first time I walked into the cabin. Then I would have thrown you down on the floor and raped you.»
A small sound came from the back of Shannon’s throat as she understood the raw truth of Whip’s statement. Deep inside, she had always assumed it was Prettyface’s snarling presence that had kept Whip from touching her in any way at all.
Now Shannon knew how badly she had misread the situation. Whip was as smart and quick as he was strong.
And he was frighteningly strong.
«But that isn’t what I want from you,» Whip said, his voice lethally calm.
«Wh —» Shannon’s voice broke.
She licked her dry lips, took a quick breath, and tried again.
«What d-do you want from me?» she asked.
At first Shannon didn’t think Whip would answer. Then he took one last, gliding stride toward her. When he stopped, he was so close to Shannon that she couldn’t take a breath without her breasts touching his hard chest.
Slowly, giving Shannon every chance to flinch away, Whip lifted his hands to her face.
She didn’t move. She simply watched him with eyes that were both wary and defiant.
The bullwhip he still carried in his left hand caressed Shannon’s cheek so lightly it felt more like a breath than a touch. The supple leather coils traced her eyebrows, the straight line of her nose, her high cheekbones.
It was the last thing Shannon had expected from Whip. The touches were so gentle she barely felt them. They shouted of Whip’s restraint.
And they teased her even as they reassured her.
She closed her eyes, wanting to concentrate on the elusive, shimmering sensations that shivered through her body. She took in a quick breath and smelled the wood smoke and evergreen on Whip, as well as the primal, disturbing scent of blood.
«Whip?» Shannon whispered through trembling lips.
His wrist flicked and the leather coils vanished. A vague thump told Shannon that the bullwhip had landed on the floor.
Whip took the shotgun from her hands and uncocked it with a few swift, easy motions. When he replaced the weapon on its pegs over the door, Shannon numbly noted that there was blood on both of his hands.
Whip saw the look on her face when he turned back to her.
«It’s all right, honey girl,» he said. «You don’t need the shotgun. I won’t hurt you. I’m just trying to answer your question about what I want from you. But I don’t have any words to tell you…»
Callused fingertips lightly traced Shannon’s hairline, the rims of her ears, the dense mahogany eyelashes quivering against her cheek, the trembling line of her lips, the pulse beating frantically in her throat.
«Are you truly afraid of me?» Whip asked huskily.
Shannon shook her head. «N-no.»
«You ought to be.»
«Why?»
«I want what I first saw in your walk,» he said simply.
«I–I don’t understand.»
«Neither do I. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, all at once, no thought, no caution, no right or wrong, nothing but a hard need riding me all day, every day. And the nights…Jesus. The nights are pure, undiluted hell.»
Shannon tried to speak. No words came out of her dry throat.
Whip’s thumbs traced her mouth, caressing it as intimately as a kiss. Her softness lured him, and her heat, and the ragged sigh she finally gave, a sigh that was also his name.
«You have a walk like honey,» Whip said huskily, bending down to her. «Kiss me, Shannon. I want to find out if your mouth is half as arousing as your walk.»
Shannon made a soft, startled sound when Whip’s teeth nibbled at her lips and his tongue probed the corners of her mouth. Tingling sensations rippled through her, shortening her breath until she felt dizzy. Her hands went up to his arms, anchoring her in a world that was dissolving beneath her feet one frantic heartbeat at a time.
«Whip?» she whispered raggedly.
«That’s it,» he said against her mouth. «Open those soft lips a little more. I have to taste you.»
«Taste me?»
«Yes. Now.»
Whip’s tongue slid into Shannon’s mouth, caressing her, tasting her with a hushed intensity that made her tremble. An answering tremor went through Whip.
Curious, Shannon looked at him. His forehead was creased and his eyes were closed. His cut, bleeding hands held her face as though she were more fragile than a butterfly’s wings. Despite the potent hunger that tightened every muscle in his body, Whip’s mouth only sipped lightly at hers.
Beneath her hands, Whip’s arms felt like steel bands. His muscles were corded and his breath was ragged. He could have taken whatever he wanted from her much more easily than he had subdued Prettyface. Shannon knew it.
And so did Whip.
Yet still he demanded nothing of her. He simply asked, coaxed, mutely pleaded to be allowed into the lush darkness behind her lips.
Shannon sighed and gave Whip what he desired. His tongue glided over hers, coaxing her to touch him in turn. The caress was tantalizing, irresistible, as warm and gentle as sunrise itself.
A small sound came from the back of Shannon’s throat as she understood Whip’s silent message. He was telling her without words how much he wanted her and how careful he would be if she gave herself to him.
The thought of such a tender sharing took the world from beneath Shannon’s feet. Her fingers dug into Whip’s arms as her knees loosened.
«Whip?»
Shannon’s muffled whisper was barely understandable. Whip was tempted to ignore the question in her tone, but didn’t. Despite her previous assurances, he was afraid that fear rather than passion had caused her fingers to clench around his arms.
Reluctantly Whip lifted his head and looked down into Shannon’s dazed blue eyes. When she still didn’t speak, he nuzzled the corner of her mouth with his mustache.
She smiled slightly and kissed the rough silk mustache that was caressing her. Whip eased the tip of his tongue into the corner of her smile. Then he probed between her lips several times, slowly, easing in and out of her warmth, teasing and tasting her lightly, hotly.
Shannon made another throttled sound and shivered.
«What is it?» Whip asked in a low voice. «Are you afraid of me after all?»
She shook her head. While she did, she watched Whip’s mouth, wondering how anything that looked so hard and sharply controlled could feel so soft and wild against her lips.
«I —» Shannon blinked, touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth, and whispered, «I feel dizzy.»
Whip’s smile was dark, swift, very male. Shannon’s eyes were a smoky sapphire that sent tongues of desire stabbing through him. His own eyes became a smoldering quicksilver as he watched Shannon lick her lips again.
«Dizzy,» Whip repeated huskily.
She nodded and touched the tip of her tongue uncertainly to her lips.
«Put your arms around my neck and hold on,» Whip said. «I’ll make sure you don’t fall.»
As Whip spoke, he drew Shannon’s arms around his neck. The movement brought her up on tiptoe and pulled her against his body. Her breath came in with a soft, ripping sound that acted on Whip like a shot of whiskey.
«Now we can do this properly,» Whip said.
«What?»
«Lick your lips again, honey girl. I’ll show you.»
Shannon hesitated, then did as Whip asked.
No sooner had Shannon’s tongue touched her lips than Whip bent down and caught her mouth beneath his. His tongue pressed into the moist darkness behind her teeth, caressing her even as he filled her. He felt the hesitation of her body, the quick intake of her breath, and then the trembling pressure of her tongue against his in secret caress.
Whip made a low sound and gathered Shannon even more closely along his body. His tongue began a sultry rhythm of penetration and retreat, return and withdrawal. After a few moments her arms tightened around his neck, lifting her into the kiss.
Without realizing it, Shannon opened her mouth more. She wanted to know every bit of Whip’s mouth, from the satin just behind his lips to the velvet of his tongue. Hungrily she probed the heated darkness that lured her unbearably.
The world spun swiftly around Whip as Shannon give back the deep kiss. His hands went from her shoulders to her thighs in long, slow sweeps. Fingers widespread, he measured the feminine elegance of her back, the lush flare of her hips, the siren call of her breasts pressed more closely against his chest with each stroke of his hands.
When Whip could deny himself no longer, he allowed his hands to slide along Shannon’s ribs until his thumbs met at the bottom of her breastbone. Without warning his hands shifted, cupping soft, taut flesh.
A threadlike groan was dragged from Whip when he discovered that Shannon was even more womanly beneath her men’s clothes than he had guessed. Her softness filled his hands.
Probing, caressing, his thumbs circled Shannon’s sensitive nipples. They blossomed in a rush that sent a fierce answering fire through Whip. Delicately he caught the tips of her breasts between his fingers and squeezed.
Shannon made a high sound of surprise as desire splintered through her, tightening her body, arching it against him in a wild caress. Her nipples had been transformed by Whip’s touch. Now they were hard peaks that stood out proudly against her old flannel shirt, begging for Whip’s hands, his mouth, his passion.
«Honey girl,» he groaned. «You could set fire to stone, and I’m one hell of a long way from stone.»
Before Shannon could answer, Whip took her mouth again. His tongue shot between her teeth as his hands slid down to her hips, lifting her, fitting the soft nest above her thighs to the rigid male flesh she had called from his body. He rocked her sensuously against his arousal while his tongue mated with hers in a fierce, elemental rhythm.
Wild pleasure streaked through Shannon, shaking her. She couldn’t get her breath because she was holding on to Whip too hard. He was holding her even harder in turn, but she still couldn’t get close enough to him. She was dizzy for lack of air, yet she pressed even more violently against Whip’s mouth, needing the deep kiss in a way she didn’t understand.
And then he dragged her hips against his rigid flesh.
A ragged moan was torn from Shannon’s throat. The sound could have been pain or fear or passion, or all three together.
Abruptly Whip realized that he was devouring Shannon’s mouth, crushing her to his body with both arms and grinding his hips against her as though he would have her here, now, standing up like a whore in an alley.
Shuddering, Whip tore his mouth from Shannon’s and loosened his arms. He let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor.
She made a questioning sound and touched her lips with fingers that jerked slightly with each quick breath she took.
Unhappily Whip looked at Shannon’s face. Against the bloody marks left by his savaged hands, her skin looked pale. Her eyes were dilated and her lips were soft, trembling, parted as she dragged raggedly at air. She swayed until she reached out blindly and steadied herself against the wall.
«Are you all right?» Whip asked.
He wanted to be gentle, but the question came out rough. His voice was harsh with the blood that was still pumping fiercely through his body.
«I feel —» Shannon’s breath broke. «Dizzy. Crazy. I can’t breathe and I’m shaking like I’m cold but parts of me are on fire and I’m burning and I want — I want — oh, God, I don’t know what I want! What did you do to me, Whip?»
For a long moment Whip looked at Shannon, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.
«How long have you been married?» he asked finally.
«What does that — have to do with — how I feel?»
The breaking of Shannon’s breath acted on Whip like tongues of fire licking over his aroused flesh, making him ache until he had to clench his teeth against a groan.
«It has everything to do with it,» Whip said thickly. «What you’re feeling is passion, honey girl. Pure and wild and hotter than hell.»
«I don’t — understand.»
Whip made a sound that could have been a curse or a prayer or both at once.
«Your husband wasn’t much of a man to cozy up with on a cold night, was he?» Whip said between his teeth.
«Silent John wasn’t — that is, heisn’t — a warm man.»
«Are you telling me that you haven’t ever felt sexual desire like this before?»
«This?» Shannon drew a ragged breath and looked at Whip with burning blue eyes. «This is desire?»
«Son of a bitch,» Whip whispered, shocked. «You mean it, don’t you?»
She nodded.
«As naive as an egg,» Whip muttered. «God. Silent John must have been about as much fun in bed as a rattlesnake. No wonder you don’t mind being his widow — he’s been as good as dead to you for years!»
Shannon’s breath caught at the contempt in Whip’s voice. She shivered and wrapped her arms protectively around herself.
As naive as an egg.
Abruptly, Shannon’s desire was transformed into anger.
Whip has no right to act so superior just because I’m not as knowing about men as Clementine or Betsy.
But Shannon wasn’t going to open the subject again by pointing that out.
«Don’t call me a widow,» Shannon said through her teeth.
«Why? It’s likely the truth and you know it.»
«But if the truth goes beyond this cabin, who will protect me from the Culpeppers after you leave? And you will leave, won’t you?Yondering man.»
«Yes,» Whip said harshly, stung by the anger and distance in Shannon’s voice. «I’ll leave one day. But not until I find a safe place for you to stay.»
«As long as I’m Silent John’s wife, I’m safe enough here.»
«That’s crap, Shannon. You’re his widow, not his wife, and this place isn’t safe for a girl alone. Especially one as naive as you!»
«It has been for seven years.»
«Only because Silent John was here with you,» Whip retorted. «Without him you wouldn’t last two months.»
Shannon barely bit back the hot retort that was crowding her tongue. Telling Whip the truth would do no good, and could do a great deal of harm.
«I’ll live where I please,» she said tightly.
«Alone?»
«Yes.»
«You can’t.»
«I can!» she said savagely. «And what business is it of yours how I live, yondering man? You have no right to order me about like I was bound by law to you.»
Whip was appalled by the idea of Shannon’s living alone through the winter in Echo Basin’s high, icy wilderness, having no one to depend upon but herself. He shook his head, said something profane beneath his breath, and raked his hand through his hair in frustration.
His fingers were bright with his own blood, blood drawn by Prettyface in defense of his naive, stubborn mistress.
When Shannon saw Whip’s fingers, she felt her hot, inexplicable rage at him drain away, leaving only an edgy kind of concern for his wounds.
«Come on,» Shannon said, turning away. «One secret spilled between us won’t matter.»
«What?»
Without a word Shannon walked to the dry goods cupboard. She opened the door, pushed on the center of a shelf, and stepped forward into the darkness.
An instant later she vanished.
The warm, humid smell of a hot spring floated back out to Whip, along with Shannon’s voice.
«Silent John told me never to tell anyone about the hot spring, but…»
Shannon’s voice died. Light flared as she struck a match and set it to a lantern’s wick. Glass clinked quietly as she replaced the chimney. A warm yellow glow spread out to Whip.
«Well, come on,» Shannon said impatiently. «Silent John swore by — swearsby — the healing power of the spring, and your hands are pretty well chewed.»
«I’ll be damned,» Whip said, stepping toward the cupboard. «So this is why he built the cabin right into the mountainside.»
Shannon shrugged. «All I know is the hot spring boils meat and washes clothes and dishes real clean at the far end, and is just right for bathing at this end. Everywhere else, the hot spring keeps the worst of the cold at bay when I can’t get out to gather wood in the winter.»
Shannon set the lantern on a wooden crate that had once held ammunition. Light transformed twists of steam into ghostly golden wraiths.
Whip ducked low as he went through the cupboard. Once inside the cave, he saw that the ceiling was high enough for him to stand upright. Lantern light glanced off the rocky walls and uneven floor, and made the many deep cracks in the rock look like ragged slices of midnight. But for the tiny hissing of the lamp and the seething, whispering swirls of water, the cave was utterly still.
A metal pan scraped over rock as Shannon dipped up hot water for Whip. She put the steaming pan on the crate next to the lantern, fished a lump of soap from a smaller wooden box and stepped aside to make room for Whip.
When Whip looked from the water to Shannon, but didn’t move farther into the cave, she made an exasperated sound.
«Surely you aren’t afraid of caves?» Shannon asked curtly.
«No. But you ought to be.»
«Why? I’ve been here a thousand times.»
«Not with me. Not when lantern light outlines your breasts and shows me that your nipples are still hard, still hungry. Do they ache, honey girl?»
Shannon flushed to the roots of her hair. She did ache, and not only in her breasts. But she wasn’t about to mention that to Whip. He had had enough fun at her expense already.
«Go to hell, yondering man. What I feel is none of your business.»
Frustration fairly vibrated through Shannon’s body and voice. Whip knew what its source was, knew its cure, and worst of all he knew the naive little widow would be the hottest woman he had ever shared a bed with.
Abruptly Whip closed his eyes, unable to look at Shannon any longer without touching her.
And if he touched her, he would take her.
He didn’t want that to happen. Not yet. Not after he had just discovered how naive she was. Seducing her now would be like shooting fish in a barrel.
Whip wanted Shannon to give herself to him knowing full well what she was doing, not because her judgment had been clouded by her first taste of real pleasure.
«I’m counting to three,» Whip said, his voice rough. «When I open my eyes, you better be —»
«But —»
«— in the cabin or I’ll strip those ragged clothes off you and teach you everything your damned husband should have about men, women, and sex.»
Shannon drew a swift, audible breath at Whip’s bluntness. If it hadn’t been for his bleeding hands, she would have grabbed the lantern and left him standing alone in the dark.
«Your hands need tending,» she said through her teeth.
«They don’t ache nearly so much as my crotch does. Do you want to tend to that, too?»
«You are a crude, miserable, surely —»
«Get your sweet little rump out of here,» Whip interrupted savagely, «or I’ll do something we’ll both regret. One.»
The temptation to throw the pan of water at Whip was so great that Shannon had her hands wrapped around the warm metal rim before she realized what she was doing.
For an instant her fingers tightened, getting ready to lift the pan.
Then common sense returned in a cold rush. No matter how angry and unsettled she was, it would be plain foolish to bait a man as dangerous as Whip, especially after she had received the clearest kind of warning about the state of his temper.
With a stifled curse Shannon let go of the pan and stepped back.
«Two,» Whip said.
He hesitated for a time before he spoke the next number. Motionless, he listened. He heard no sounds of Shannon’s retreat. He heard nothing at all but the muted noises of lantern and hot spring.
«Three.»
Whip opened his eyes and discovered that Shannon had gone as silently as steam rising from the hot spring’s gently seething surface.
Damn.
I was hoping she’d lose her temper and sling that pan of water at me. It would have been fun using every stitch of her clothing to dry myself off.
It would have been even more fun getting her wet in return.
Whip took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to release the aggressive, coiled hunger of his body.
It’s better this way. She’s too naive.
Whip kept repeating that bit of wisdom all the way to the pan of water, but it didn’t convince him worth a damn. He still wanted Shannon like hell burning.
He plunged his hands into the hot water, hoping pain would take his mind off the hunger that was knotting his guts.
It didn’t.
Swearing, Whip began to work soap into the ragged cuts on his hands. As he did, he remembered what Jessi, Wolfe’s wife, had told him about keeping wounds clean so that they would heal quickly.
Silently he wondered if soap would wash away desire as well as blood and dirt.
Somehow, I doubt it, Whip thought sourly.
He was right.