Sam's Creed

He took back the jar. “I’m not the one proposing relations on horseback with a stranger.”

“It is not like that.”

“Can’t see where I got it wrong.”

Feeling vulnerable, she rubbed the remnants of the cream between her fingers and tugged her skirt down with the other hand. She made it one inch before he was tucking it back up again. Higher than before. She shot him a glare and held tight, barely preventing full exposure. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. If he had not been intent on exposing her privates, she would have found it very endearing. The man had charm when he wanted to use it.

“You forgot to do this side.”

She hadn’t forgotten a thing. “Your hand was in the way.”

“Then it’s only fair that I help.”

His hand engulfed hers, directing her salve-covered fingertip back to her flesh, guiding her as he eased the cream onto her other thigh, first down then up, higher each time on the up, coming closer and closer to her woman’s flesh. He wasn’t touching her, but it felt as if he was. So much so that she felt she needed only to let him go just a little bit farther and something important would be revealed. He brought her hand back down, and then up in a slow seduction that was sinfully decadent. Lushly erotic. And totally out of her control.

Isabella yanked her skirt out of his grip and her hand from under his.

Sam chuckled, but didn’t fight with her. It was a deeply inviting, highly sensual sound. It made her want to laugh, too, for no other reason than to join in. She frowned and concentrated on applying the salve. It was easy to get down by her knees, but higher up required her to lean back. Back was about a six-foot drop to the ground. She settled for rubbing more in where it was.

“Here.” Sam’s arm came behind her back. “Lean on me.”

“It is fine.” If he dropped her she would break her neck.

“I won’t drop you.”

“Do you read minds as well as everything else?”

“You’re not that hard to read. Lean back.”

She did tentatively. His arm was solid as a wall.

“I won’t let you fall.”

She glanced up at him. He was no longer smiling, and his expression was strangely soft.

“Why should I trust you?”

“I am a Texas Ranger. My job is to protect.”

“This does not reassure me.”

“How about I take care of what’s mine?”

“I am not yours.”

“You will be if I take you up on your proposition.”

“You have not accepted.”

“I’m working up to it.”

That was not the only thing he was working up to. His hand guided hers higher, past the softest part of her thigh to the valley between, coming to rest against the center of her ache.

“You missed a spot.”

His fingers pressed hers against the hard point beneath the cotton. Fire shot through her body. She cried out. He held her through the shock, supporting her through the delicious trauma. Distantly she heard Kell whine.

“Easy, Bella. Don’t fight.”

He made her sound weak. “You will know when I fight,” she gasped.

His lips pressed her temple, and his finger slid between hers, finding the slit in her drawers and dipping beneath. “I bet.”

His finger was hot, intrusive, but oddly exciting as it tucked between her folds, forcing her own finger to slide against that erotic point as his found the hollow below.

She didn’t know whether to curl up in embarrassment or to drop backward in a full-out sprawl.

“There, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

Caught as she was between mortification and joy, she could only nod. He rocked his hand on hers, pleasuring her even as she pleasured herself.

“Don’t pull away. Just let yourself get used to the idea.”

Of what? Going up in flames at the direction of a man who was practically a stranger?

“It is a sin to touch oneself.”

“Why?”

She frowned. “I do not know.”

His hat brim brushed her head as he drawled in her ear, “Now, that is a sin. And one that should be rectified.”

She shivered as the dark promise of something wicked coming slid down her spine. She’d always been attracted to wicked. Always longed for the forbidden, and now, as if the devil had heard her thoughts, here was a man who seemed to understand the part of her she’d spent so many years on her knees burying in prayer. And she didn’t know what to do with him. She said so, bracing herself for ridicule. If anything, his expression grew softer, more sympathetic.

“Just follow my lead.”

The problem was he was not leading her anywhere. His hand just covered hers as it rested on her mound. She kept waiting for him to move, to attack, but he did not. He merely squeezed his knees and the horse began to walk, adding a light rocking shift of pressure to the contact.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You’re doing fine.”

She was not doing anything but feeling him, the strength in his arms, the power in his touch, the threat of his shaft pressing into her buttocks. She became vividly aware of all the places his body touched hers, the fragility of her hand blocking his from the ultimate intimacy. An intimacy she’d invited. Even reminding herself of that fact didn’t stop the tension within winding tighter, and while she felt distinctly threatened, her body continued to soften and flower outward as if in invitation. Her next breath came on a shaky realization. A woman didn’t have any control in a situation like this.

“Breathe, Bella.”

The amused reminder came in another deep drawl that slid like dark molasses over her nerves, soothing some, stimulating others. She loved his voice, the deep timbre rich with nuance that conveyed so much, but right now revealed nothing. She could not imagine what he thought of her. A woman who so boldly invited him to be her lover. His finger probed her tightness. She jumped, bumping his chin with her head. Instead of swearing, he pressed his lips against her temple.