Never Love a Cowboy by Jill Gregory

Author:Jill Gregory
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, historical, western, cowboys
Publisher: Jill Gregory

Chapter 15

Emma awoke in blissful dreamy peace. She felt light as air, and at the same time sated, as if she’d feasted upon a delicious five-course banquet. But the sweet sense of contentment faded the moment she opened her eyes and realized where she was. Daylight flooded through the small window of the shack and illuminated every dusty inch of the rough shelter. It streamed across the cot upon two entwined bodies—hers and Tucker’s.

Her heart lurching, she suddenly recalled everything that had happened between them in the magic waning hours of the night. Each kiss; each touch, each word. She grew hot all over, then cold seeped through her, and she shoved her hair back from her face. Trembling, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and stared down at the golden-haired man sleeping alongside her.

She knew then that the reason she’d been sleeping so peacefully was because she’d been curled up in Tucker’s arms. One of his legs was still thrown across both of hers. And one bronzed, muscled arm still clasped her waist.

Inching herself carefully away, she extricated herself from his embrace and sat there with her knees drawn up, staring at the lean hard lines of his face, the tawny stubble along his jaw and above his upper lip, and the way his hair tumbled forward over his brows. Her breath caught in her throat. He was so handsome. So terribly handsome, and strong, and yet he had been so gentle with her, so careful and heartbreakingly tender.

As she stared down at him, she felt herself begin to shake like a dandelion puff caught in an autumn gust. Those long-lashed eyes, closed in sleep, would open any moment and hit her like twin flares. She couldn’t face him.

Not after what they’d done.

Her nakedness which had seemed so gloriously natural and beautiful to her last night now filled her with shame. Even as she stared hungrily at Tucker’s bronzed chest and the rigid muscled plank of his stomach, at the sculpted gorgeous length of him sprawled on the cot with such ease and splendor, she knew that she had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

She wasn’t over him.

She wasn’t cured.

She yearned for him every bit as much as she had yesterday—no, more. More!

Panic whipped through her. Perhaps the fire in Tucker would be doused when he awoke, as he’d predicted, and he would no longer want to have anything to do with her, much less kiss her or make love to her, but she...

She hadn’t gotten over him. Not by a long shot.

On the contrary, when she looked at him now, remembering the rough sweetness of his kisses, the enthralling feel of his body against her, within hers, she knew that she would never get over him.

Not as long as she lived.

A sob nearly broke from her throat, and she choked it back with supreme effort. Slowly she rose from the bed, reached for her petticoat in a white lacy puddle on the floor.

She had to get away.

She almost made it.

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